


Thwarting and Charming Godfathers, Malfoy Style

by DashFnanz



Series: Styles [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, Harry Potter is a Good Boyfriend, Humor, M/M, Meet the Family, Remus Lupin Lives, Remus Lupin is So Done, Sirius Black Lives, Sirius Black is a Little Shit, Sirius Black is his Own Warning, Strategy & Tactics, This is more than 25k what is my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24861613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DashFnanz/pseuds/DashFnanz
Summary: Draco paced around his bedroom like a caged animal in his silk pajamas, at nine o'clock on a Saturday morning. He was perfectly fine. Was he meeting his boyfriend's incredibly scary godfathers today? Yes. Was he worried?No.He was perfectly fine. Honest.Alternately, Draco meets his boyfriend's godparents. Hilarity ensues.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Styles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798825
Comments: 43
Kudos: 333





	Thwarting and Charming Godfathers, Malfoy Style

**Author's Note:**

> [Heads up, this A/N is _long._ ]
> 
> Hey guys! Here's the well-anticipated sequel to Sex-Ed, Sirius Style. This is the second fic in the 'Styles' universe. I've kept you all waiting, I know, but hopefully the word count's worth it! *fingers crossed* This has to be the longest thing I've written since...ever, really.
> 
> So many of you have replied to my previous fic, leaving me all sorts of suggestions and ideas. I've tried my best to incorporate them into this piece - some of your requests weren't blending with my plan for this fic, and so, I've instead re-worked them a bit. I hope this makes you happy, because your comments made my day :) Thank you to all those who've read, kudo-ed or commented on my work. Each and everyone one of you have made me smile and feel special, and you have both inspired and motivated me to keep writing. Thank you!
> 
> This can, of course, be read as a stand-alone, but I've added a few references to Sex-Ed, Sirius Style here, and it'd make me really sad if you didn't get them ;)
> 
> For those who haven't read the fic before this, the timeline is in a Canon Divergence!AU where Sirius was acquitted of his alleged crimes around the start of Harry's fifth year. He doesn't die in the Department of Mysteries battle at the end of fifth year, and Harry defeats Voldemort by sending him through the Veil.
> 
> Thank you, so, so much to my two betas, Jane [(Dumbothepatronus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dumbothepatronus/pseuds/Dumbothepatronus) and Arty [(The Lady Arturia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyArturia/pseuds/TheLadyArturia). Jane, you've been absolutely fantastic, and I don't know what I'd do without your suggestions, edits and advice. You've been invaluable to me, both as a beta and as moral support. I am so grateful to you, most importantly for making me keep faith in my writing even when I had none.
> 
> Arty made time out of her crazy busy schedule to beta the first scenes for me. She's entirely responsible for the reason why the first half of this story holds some semblance of sense, because when I first started out on this, I'll be the first to admit that I had no idea whatsoever where I was going with this thing.
> 
> Shoutout to N, who's had to deal with my whining practically since I began writing this some weeks ago. N must've read this entire fic at least twice, maybe more. You've been so great and encouraging, and I adore you. Thank you especially for highlighting everything you liked best about it, because that made my day each time. Thanks a million, N! You know who you are ;)
> 
> Disclaimer: J.K Rowling is a goddess and I can never compare. So, she keeps the characters, the places and her own created world, while I borrow them all every now and then like the pathetic human I am. The plot is all mine though!
> 
> Warnings: mild language, vague references to sexual topics, Sirius Black is his Own Warning.
> 
> Happy reading!

"This is all Weasley's fault."

Draco paced around his bedroom like a caged animal in his silk pajamas at nine o'clock on a Saturday morning, hands clasped behind his back tight enough for his fingers to go numb. His shirt was stuck to his armpits with sweat, his muscles wound up painfully tight, and his jaw kept flexing erratically.

He was perfectly fine.

Sure, he was meeting his boyfriend's godparents today, and sure, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin-Black were both scary in their own right. And of course, he'd be facing their veritable arsenal of verbal weapons for what would most likely be the most terrifying day of his young life. But he was perfectly fine.

Oh yes, Draco felt fucking _fantastic_.

He grimaced at himself. Where was the composed, suave, dashing young pureblood he used to be? His identity, his reputation, had been whittled down to a point where he could barely recognise himself—all because of Harry bloody Potter.

It was official. Harry Potter had had him whipped.

It was just like him, he thought. Just like Potter to mess with his very being with his _power of_ _love_. All those years tirelessly spent building his reputation, destroyed to pieces with but a few looks, words and touches.

See, Draco used to be a rock. Chiseled. Unmovable. The Ice Prince of Slytherin. But ever since Harry Potter had wormed his way into his life with his pretty green eyes and long, long lashes and made himself the centre of Draco's universe, his image had gone to hell. He was now no more than a pile of mushy, gooey grape jelly. Or, in Harry's own words, a complete and utter marshmallow.

(He hadn't known what a 'marshmallow' was at first, and those few months of ignorance really were bliss. Ever since his first experience with those blasted things in his hot chocolate last December, he had been seething at every mention hence of him being one.)

It was insulting! Marshmallows were all fluffy and wiggly, too sweet and disgustingly white. _He was not a marshmallow._

At times like these, he missed his old self. The old Draco Malfoy would never be caught dead like this, with messy hair and terrified wide eyes, and the beginnings of sweat stains on the back of his shirt. He felt ridiculous. Which brought him to his current state of insanity.

"Damned Weasley. All his fault."

Father was wrong about a lot of his ideals, but if there was one belief that always proved to be true, it was his belief regarding Weasleys.

Draco didn't see eye to eye with his father over plenty of subjects—too many to count—and his tenuous familial bond with Lucius Malfoy was sustained only by their staunch agreement on three matters—that a Malfoy must always look his best _(hair care is of utmost importance, Draco),_ the Falmouth Falcons were by far the strongest team _(anyone who thinks otherwise clearly has terrible taste, Draco)_ and that when in doubt, most of life's problems could be traced back to a Weasley _(need I explain this further, Draco?)_.

The third rule, he found, was extremely applicable, especially in his current predicament.

After all, it was Weasley who forced him to start a relationship with Harry, even though he was perfectly alright ignoring his slowly growing attraction to the dark-haired beauty. 'Forced' being the operative word, since Weasley had _literally_ punched sense into him, practically ordering him to "get his head out of his bloody arse" and "go snog his best friend already".

It was because of Weasley that their intimacy had progressed as far as it had, with Harry dangling the promise of embraces and kisses for every incidence he was nice to his best friend. He knew that without that incentive, Harry would be much too shy to initiate their more risqué snogging sessions of his own volition.

Hell, without Weasley in the picture, he probably would have had a proper chance to befriend Harry back when they were eleven, and maybe his heart would have been appeased with the fondness of friendship. Maybe he wouldn't have felt the need to win Harry's love.

To sum up, Ronald Weasley was a nuisance. Ron Weasley was the reason for his spiral from a confident pureblood harbouring a relatively minor crush to a floundering, lovesick fool.

"Stupid, interfering Weasley."

As he paced his way back to the floor-length mirror, his eyes caught the reflecting glint of silver from his bedside table. His lips quirked up instinctively. On impulse, he made his way to the silver frame perched on the tabletop.

He picked up the frame, looking at the moving photo within. His boyfriend's handsome face stared back at him, plush pink lips hooking up in a restrained smile. He was wearing his good robes, standing before Gringotts with just a hint of discomfort in his features. It was the perfect photograph to display in his room for a proper pureblood in courtship—semi-formal, reserved, powerful.

Draco smiled at the picture in his hand, internally categorising, once again, the differences between this Harry, the one the public got to see, and _his_ Harry, the quirky, wild one he was so fond of.

He set the frame back down, his eyes raking over the letter placed beside it. It was the one Harry had sent two weeks ago, inviting him to lunch to meet his godfathers. He could see Harry's tiny chicken-scratch lettering filling the parchment in his usual cramped style.

He sat down on his bed, retrieving his wand from its holster. Pointing it at the lowest drawer of his table, he uttered the incantations to unlock the wards he had placed over it.

He had designed the wards himself, back when he'd just turned fifteen and the Dark Lord had invaded his home, making it his own headquarters. Draco had made many modifications over the years, keeping the wards in place even after Harry had vanquished the Dark Lord. He kept everything he had that was connected with his boyfriend in the expanded drawer, among other things.

The Dark Lord may be gone, but Harry was still a target of his more fanatic followers, and Draco's connection to Harry Potter was now easily acquired knowledge. He took no chances with his boyfriend's safety.

He twirled his wand with a final flourish, the drawer producing an audible click. He pulled on the knob and reached in for the thickly framed photograph subtly hidden where it was wedged between two boxes. He pulled it out, once again admiring the intricate silver designs embossed over the black frame, the little diamonds in the swirls gleaming in the morning light.

It was a gift from his mother for his eleventh birthday, a Malfoy heirloom meant for him to take to Hogwarts. It had held a picture of his parents for years, before his views had matured and became his own. He didn't idolise them with that same fervour anymore. There was someone else in his life now, more deserving of this beautiful frame.

He looked at the moving photograph encased behind the protective glass. It was one of him and Harry, seated beneath the tree closest to the Black Lake. Harry was leaning against his shoulder, curled half over his lap like a cat, admiring the pink and gold sunset sky reflected within the waters. Draco, on the other hand, was looking at Harry, the blatantly soppy look on his features admittedly incriminating. With the blooming spring backdrop surrounding them, and the setting sun before them, it looked more a dream than a mere memory.

The two photographs were handed to him by Colin Creevey, Harry's little Gryffindor friend. The one he kept on display was given to him on request, while the one in his hands was silently presented to him of Creevey's own accord. He never quite knew how the boy managed to capture them; the Gringotts photo was taken at an angle noticeably different to the one printed in the Daily Prophet, and he could have sworn that spring evening by the lake that there was no one around.

He hadn't bothered to ask. He'd have never received a straight answer.

The kid was a wonder—a menace as well, but he could admit to being impressed by the kid's subtlety and self-preservation. Creevey had sworn up and down that no one else had seen their photograph near the Black Lake, not even Harry. The vulnerability of Draco's gaze in the photo was a private moment, meant for no one's eyes but his. That Creevey had recognised that, and respected and feared him enough to act on it, was commendable. For a Gryffindor, that is.

His finger involuntarily traced Harry's face over the glass. Harry was laughing in the photo, pointing at the large bird swooping over the water and trying to claw at the sun's coral reflection. He could hear the echo of his laughter playing over and over, light as a breeze. The sound of that laugh made him fall in love like nothing else could.

He could see his own face too, reflected in the glass; the lovestruck shine in his eyes a perfect match to the smile on his photographic face's lips. He knew for sure, in that moment, that he would do anything for Harry Potter—facing terrifying godfathers out for his blood not being the exception—because Harry Potter owned his heart.

It wasn't like he minded it, really. After all, the one thing Draco liked best about going to Hogwarts was falling in love with beautiful boys like him. Who wouldn't?

Thankfully, he had already come of age in June. If the godfathers showed signs of homicidal inclinations, at least he was legally old enough to pull out his wand.

Small mercies.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It was about half-past eleven now, and Draco was alternating between muted hyperventilation and restrained calm. He was consciously keeping himself from fidgeting, while also consciously keeping himself from holding his breath indefinitely. It was quite draining, truthfully; he really did need to try out the meditation book Granger had recommended.

He had gone down to the wine cellars himself this morning, picking out an appropriate bottle of red wine for his hosts. The Malfoy cellars were fully stocked, and he was sure his father wouldn't miss one pilfered bottle. His Christmas gift for Harry was wrapped and set aside a week ago—yesterday itself being Christmas—and both these items were currently resting on the little decorative table adjacent to his bedroom door, not five feet away from him.

He kept checking on them every now and then (technically, every three minutes) to make sure they didn't disappear on him. It'd be a shame if he appeared at the Lupin-Black's fireplace empty-handed. His nervous guilt from the breach of pureblood protocol would surely undo him, if Sirius Black didn't get to him first.

He walked up to the mirror and checked his reflection once again, just to give his mind something to analyse.

His white-blond hair was styled to perfection—he had used a bit of gel to get it to stay in place, but not too much, since Harry detested the sticky texture. His polished boots shone like black metal—standard leather shoes and not dragonhide, because Harry got upset at every reminder of tormented dragons ever since he fought the Hungarian Horntail at the Triwizard Tournament. (He had tried explaining that the dragons were never hurt during the skinning, but Harry was having none of it.)

Draco scrutinised his ensemble again, ensuring that his thick black shirt and pressed black trousers were free from wrinkles. His silky, wine-red over-robe shone when it hit the light just right, and the shining silver brocade at the neck of his collar made his grey eyes look brighter. The delicate swirling motifs along the seams hit just the right balance between stylish and understated, in his opinion.

Father had always said that black was the way to go for significant introductory meetings to make the best impression. Black oozed power and class; black made a statement; black was the colour that said, "If you are _very_ lucky, I just might invite you into my circle."

Above all, black complimented the Malfoy complexion perfectly.

Black was his first choice for today, but just in time, he had remembered Sirius Black's very vocal hatred for anything dark. Deciding not to test the waters in case the aversion also veered into colour choices—one never knew with the man, from what he'd heard— chose the wine-red robe to tone down the overall look. The colour played into Black's well-known fondness for anything red, but at the same time, it didn't scream _Gryffindor_.

Overall, he was as prepared as he could be. He had the host-gift, he had the perfect look, and he had the charisma. He'd been charming his way through the pureblood elite since he was four and had a gap between his teeth; how hard could it be with one Head Auror with estranged family-ties and one former professor, part-time werewolf?

He took another conscious breath, and tried very hard to ignore how much he had riding on today's meal. Not only would he soon be meeting his boyfriend's closest family, but if things went as planned, his future boss; and if things went even better than planned, his future father-in-laws.

So, no pressure then.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Ten-to-twelve on the dot, and Draco was more than ready to make his way to the downstairs Travel Room. Waiting around had done nothing for his nerves, and he was already anxious for the ordeal to be over and done with.

When he was younger, he had very aptly, if embarrassingly, dubbed their extravagant Travel Room as the 'Pop 'n Whoosh' room. It had taken much too long for his parents to break him out of the habit for it to not be mortifying. Looking back, he felt thankful that they were much too proper to even entertain the idea of bringing it up again. It didn't compare to the many, _many_ times he had recently wished that they weren't so rigid, but at least it allowed his shameful secret to die a natural death, along with his equally humiliating seven-year-old lisp.

He wondered if Harry's godfathers had any embarrassing stories to tell. Or would the atmosphere be too awkward for that? He'd find out soon enough.

Before he left his room, he took another look across towards his boyfriend's smiling face in the Gringotts photograph, discomfort in his features and excitement in his stance. That picture was taken right before Harry had gone in with Black to collect his Potter Heirship ring, many months after the Dark Lord's death—although the media thankfully still wasn't aware of that development.

Seeing Harry's happiness—knowing that it was the first time he looked so light and free since the battle in the Department of Mysteries—it made him feel better about himself, about this. He and Harry, they had built their relationship around the central idea of teasing one another to insanity. From enemies to friends, from friends to more, this was the one constant through everything. But he knew that, all said and done, Harry would never stop being in his corner.

And while he still grumbled at Weasley during his more cynical moments—pretending that if he wasn't around, he'd have a chance at friendship with Harry, negating the turn of events that led to him falling in love—he had long accepted the truth.

Romantic cliché as it may be, he couldn't imagine a universe where he didn't fall for Harry Potter. At least in this one, Harry returned his affections.

As much as he hated to admit it, Ron Weasley was the best damn nuisance he could ever ask for.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

He Flooed into the Lupin-Black's wide entryway with an accompanied _ting_ at exactly seven to noon. Father had always stressed the importance of arriving precisely seven minutes early to make the best impression—maintaining punctuality while not seeming over-eager. As peeved as he was with his father, he could easily admit that Lucius Malfoy had every social construct in existence down to a science, and he'd be a fool not to take advantage of his father's tested theories.

"— _nd stop glaring at the silverware!"_

He caught the tail end of his boyfriend's muted voice, abruptly ending with a sharp inflection on hearing the Floo chime. Harry was distinctly whining, and he could picture with a smile the adorable pout that went with it.

The words caught up to him then, and he grimaced internally. He didn't need a guess as to who was glaring at the silverware.

Sure enough, Sirius Black in the flesh emerged from what must have been the dining room, stalking towards him from the end of the short corridor. Draco had to consciously restrain himself from gulping audibly. The man was _terrifying_.

Harry had often mentioned his godfather's ridiculous self-training regimen ever since they had first become friends, but seeing the bulging muscles under his shirt still felt like a slap in the face. They weren't that huge, everything considered, but he couldn't imagine the same man being the emaciated Azkaban escapee he was not five years ago. All those wanted posters—the sickly, crazy, skeleton man pictured in bold highlight—now felt like a lie.

Sirius Black's grey eyes—a mirror image to his own—gleamed at him with a hunter's gaze, even as he smiled at Draco affably. His arms were outstretched in a welcoming gesture, but to Draco, they felt as if they were readying for capture. His loose black hair was left tousled, and his dark-red t-shirt was almost tauntingly casual. The full sleeves were _just_ short enough to reveal a glimpse of his wand holster.

Faced before him, Draco felt like overdressed prey.

"Ah, Malfoy, perfect timing!" Sirius Black said, his words gritted. His voice was throaty and slightly gruff. _Must be rough from barking out orders all the time_ , Draco's mind supplied.

"Welcome to the Lupin-Black residence. Harry's told me much about you."

Draco's pureblood instincts kicked in. He straightened himself further and firmed his jaw.

"It is an honour to be here, sir. Thank you for inviting me to your home."

"Of course," the man replied with a sharp smile. "It was about time we met you."

Sirius Black was quite good-looking for a man in his forties. His features were only enhanced by his smile, even when said smile felt like a metaphorical blade. The man's handsomeness was quite intimidating, which didn't really work in his favour.

He wondered if this was how all of Sirius Black's suspects felt right before they were interrogated by him.

He was readying himself for a courteous reply, when Harry came bounding through the door, saving him from having to answer.

"Draco!"

Harry hurried up to him, pushing past his godfather to wrap him in a big hug. Just for that moment, Draco's brain stopped sending him panic signals of imminent death and allowed him to properly enjoy Harry's affection.

Thankfully, Harry was too shy to kiss him in front of his godfather. Even in his current petrified state, he didn't think he'd have enough self-control not to deepen it to full-on snogging. He hadn't seen Harry for two weeks; it was far too long to go without kissing his boyfriend.

He didn't want to even _consider_ how much worse his fate would be if Sirius Black were to see him necking his godson right in front of him.

Harry pulled away fast enough to make his head spin, his mouth already forming words excitedly.

"I missed you, Draco! Did you get away okay? How was your Christmas?"

Draco couldn't help letting out a little chuckle at his boyfriend's buzzing energy. As wild as Harry could be, he rarely got to see this side directed towards him. They didn't make a habit of staying apart for this long, not even during their most explosive fights.

"I managed fine, Harry. My parents think I'm out with Blaise again, they don't know a thing. Christmas came and went as usual—we had lobster bisque and caviar to accompany our meal yesterday, of course, but that was all. Mother is still quite exhausted from hosting the Yule ball."

Harry made a face at his softly whispered report. "Oh yes, the Yule ball. How many stuffy old men did you have to make nice with?"

Draco chuckled again. "Too many to count. The fawning females were even worse."

Harry playfully glared with what Draco knew was faux possessiveness. Harry was much more passive-aggressive when he was truly jealous. "They better not have touched you, Dray."

But still, this wasn't like Harry. He was playing it up too much for him not to be up to something.

Draco smiled back with a charm that was only partly an act. "No one else gets to do that, _mon chéri_. Just you."

His boyfriend's behaviour was getting suspicious.

Harry's lips pressed together, his cheeks coloured with the same light blush he always got when Draco used the endearment on him. Harry's reactions were always his favourite part of the French language.

"Tell me, Harry," he continued with an amused smirk. He felt Harry shiver at the low whisper of his name. His smirk grew.

"I know you're up to something." He pitched his voice even lower. "What are you doing, Harry?"

Harry shivered again, more pronounced this time, before he pulled himself together. He pressed himself closer to Draco, tilting his head up to look through his thick, dark lashes right into Draco's eyes.

"Saving your arse," Harry replied in a tone just as soft as his. "Like always."

Harry pulled away, flashing a smug smile at his dazed look. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up, as it always did when Harry pulled that trick on him (those green eyes would kill him one day, he just knew it), but when Harry's comment finally registered, his look turned into one of confusion. What did his boyfriend mean?

Just then, a pointed grunt broke them out of their private little bubble. Draco looked up to see Sirius Black—who was silently watching them from a corner—aiming a cutting glare at him, tapping his fingers against a strained thigh.

The man looked as annoyed as Draco expected, but also surprisingly disgruntled, as if someone had snatched away his finest entertainment.

Oh Merlin. _He_ was the entertainment. _That_ was what Harry was saving him from.

As much as he dearly wanted to dwell on his new epiphany, he was drawn away by the steady drumming of those fingers. With each tap, the fingers seemed to get more menacing, and the man's raised eyebrows more compelling.

Draco pulled away from Harry as quickly as he could while making the move look natural; but the fingers didn't break their ominous rhythm.

His gaze zeroed onto Sirius Black's fingers, and it was then that he noticed the pants. Sirius Black was sporting a pair of blue trousers - jeans, he reminded himself - the exact same shade and style as the ones in Harry's collection. The denim blue fabric mocked Draco, and he felt decidedly punished for all the times he had openly admired Harry's fine figure in those jeans.

Sirius Black seemed to know how to set him on edge without even doing anything.

Harry nudged him, and Draco realised that he had been staring. He shifted his gaze to his boyfriend, only to catch a barely-there smirk. He hoped that Harry couldn't tell what was going on in his head - that would be mortifying.

His boyfriend just gave him a breezy smile.

"Come on!" Harry said, taking him by the hand. "Come look at the place! Do you like the decorations? I did up that little tree there myself, what do you think?"

Draco let his boyfriend pull him along, feeling decidedly in shock, chancing an apologetic glance towards the man in the shadows. It wasn't proper at all to tour through a man's home on the first visit, and especially not without the man's explicit permission.

Sirius Black, however, didn't seem fazed at all. His glare was just as steady, but its potency hadn't changed a bit.

Belatedly, Draco realised what was happening. Sirius Black, Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black and one of the richest wizarding men in Britain, didn't care one whit for standard pureblood etiquette, or even basic social protocol. Of course he didn't; the red ACDC shirt was testament enough to that. No self-respecting pureblood would greet a Noble Heir with pictures of screaming men plastered to their chests.

Most importantly, Sirius Black was using this casual, completely unsubtle way of throwing out the rule-book as a prime means to unnerve him as much as possible. And unfortunately, so far it was working.

Harry dragged him all over the ground floor, showing him everything in sight while he offered enough compliments and acknowledgements to be satisfying. Harry showed him the little Christmas tree he had done up at the end of the hallway; the baubles looked cheery and a bit unorganised, just like its decorator.

Harry took him to the large recreation room (Harry called it a 'den' _,_ was it a Gryffindor thing?), pointing out the fairy lights strung up by Sirius Black and the pictures on the mantle. Harry showed him the TV Lupin had managed to charm to work on magic. Harry showed him everything that could possibly be shown in a single room, before dragging him to the next. All the while, he could see Sirius Black tagging along through his peripheral vision.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to figure out what Harry was doing.

Granted, he was quite preoccupied with forming his strategy against Sirius Black. He had long since planned on how he would win over Remus Lupin—the man was their professor in third year, and his personality was easily identifiable. Sirius Black, on the other hand, was a wild card.

He was still lost in thought when Harry pulled him into the sitting room, still keeping up a stream of mindless chatter. Were all his mental faculties more alert, Harry's chirpy conversations would have instantly aroused suspicion—his boyfriend was sounding more and more like he was channelling Creevey. It was only when he entered the sitting room that he was roused from his ticking thoughts.

The room was… _red_. Very red. It was startling to the eye, and for one who had never been exposed to so much redness at once, it was vaguely threatening. He was quite sure that, even as a proud Slytherin, he had never considered using the colour green to this extent.

It was when he was confronted by all the red in the room that he noticed what Harry was wearing. Considering that he himself had on the wine red robe, Harry's outfit was the only thing that stood out.

His boyfriend was wearing his old Weasley jumper. More specifically, his old, _green_ Weasley jumper.

Harry wore that jumper so often, it was no wonder that it slipped past his godfather's Auror senses. But he knew Harry. His boyfriend could play Slytherin games with the best of them. He wore the green jumper for a reason.

Harry was playing on his side.

Harry wouldn't help him overtly, he knew. With their dynamic, Harry was expected to enjoy the show and hold it over his head for ages to come, and Draco's mischievous boyfriend could never possibly be persuaded to break character. And oh, there would be ribbing later, for sure. But now—in his stand-off against Harry's godfather—Harry promised to be more than a neutral observer.

And that was when he realised—Harry's prolonged tour was nothing but a means to buy him time to regroup.

Draco squeezed the hand in his and smiled at his boyfriend, revelling in the bright wink he received in return.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Draco estimated it to be a quarter past twelve when they walked into the room he expected them to be dining in. It was the last door in the corridor, almost hidden by the large drapery overshadowing it. Harry didn't show him into the room before this one, merely shooting him a warning look as they passed by the intricate door, and he was tensed in anticipation for another surprise.

He was right to be wary.

They had just entered the kitchen, and the first thing he noticed was the large four-seater table off to the side, set up with plates and silverware. _Plates and_ _silverware_.

They would be dining in the _kitchen_.

He wasn't against the idea of spending a meal or two in a kitchen—he found the idea to be quite domestic and homey, and Merlin knew he had some fantastic memories with Harry in the Hogwarts kitchens. It was where they spent most of their time together as friends.

But this was a _formal_ lunch. It was their first meal together; surely Sirius Black wouldn't defy pureblood etiquette to this extent? He knew that the Ancestral Black home would have a formal dining room—it must have been the large door they had passed.

Inviting a pureblood guest to the kitchens, let alone dining in one, was a snub so vocal it was practically unheard of. How was he supposed to react to this?

He took a deep breath, and continued to inspect his surroundings with forced calm. The kitchen itself was roomy and impossibly bright. So far, every room he had visited was warm and sunny, but this one surpassed them all.

He had heard many recounted stories from his mother about Great-Aunt Walburga's legendary interior design. From what he had pieced together, Great-Aunt Walburga's taste was so gloomy and dark, that it could almost be called depressing. But that was not the case here, he could see. Every part of the house was a stark contrast to what he had pictured the place to be when he was a kid. Harry and his godfathers had done a wonderful job of renovating the place.

He spotted Harry's honorary godfather, Remus Lupin, leaning against the far counter with a Muggle softcover book in his hand. As they entered, the man looked up with a genial smile, and Draco was transported back to third year when the man had first introduced himself as their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. His amber eyes were as kind as he remembered them to be, his relaxed pose and warm smile making him feel at ease.

Lupin put down his book and walked up to him, shaking his hand with a welcoming smile.

"Mr Malfoy! Good to see you again."

Again, Draco felt his pureblood instincts kicking in, even as he debated his next move, his shock at the situation ebbing into calm strategy.

"It is a pleasure to see you too, sir. Harry was just showing me around; you have a beautiful home."

He could feel the bottle of wine growing heavy in the large pocket within his robes, even though he knew logically that the feather-light charm couldn't possibly be dissipating. What should he do? Should he offer the wine to the man before him? The Lupin-Blacks couldn't make it any clearer that they didn't subscribe to pureblood decorum; would his gift be welcomed?

"Why, thank you, Mr Malfoy. I must ask you to pardon our unorthodox arrangements; our dining room was accosted by a particularly vicious swarm of Doxies _just last night_. I hope you don't find this arrangement too uncomfortable."

Remus was looking at someone behind Draco throughout his speech—Sirius Black, he was sure—his look growing more concentrated at the emphasised inflection.

"Oh please, call me Draco. And no, it's perfectly alright, sir. I don't mind at all; I wouldn't want to be any trouble. I just hope that you are able to resolve the situation well. It must be quite a bothersome one, I'm sure."

Lupin had apologised. It didn't change much—they were still dining in the bloody kitchen after all—but clearly, Lupin wasn't in on his husband's scheming, if the silent exchange was anything to go on. Sirius Black was the only one trying to trigger Draco into making a scene.

He knew what to do.

Draco pulled out the wine sequestered within his robes. He had placed both cooling and containment charms on the bottle, thus keeping the bottled chilled while ensuring that the cold glass against his skin didn't make him uncomfortable. He presented it to Lupin, holding the bottle by the base with a casual elegance he had spent years perfecting.

"A humble gift from me, sir. Just a thank you for inviting me into your home. I hope you and Lord Black find it enjoyable."

Lupin took it with mild surprise, holding the bottle by its body to give the label a cursory glance.

"What's… Mr Malfoy—Draco—you didn't have to! This is too much; you shouldn't have to…"

As an heir, he wasn't permitted to present a host-gift to a Lord, and so he had to give it to Lupin. Only a Lord could give another Lord a gift of any sort — no one really knew why, but it just was. He used to think that it was a case of equality and respect between Lords, but now he considered the idea that the rule was in place to give young purebloods like him an easy way out.

This way, self-preserving young men wouldn't be metaphorically skewered by the mortification that would come with handing over an easy weapon of rejection to their significant other's fathers.

"Oh, think nothing of it, sir. It is but my duty to thank you for your gracious hospitality. Please, accept this token from me."

Sirius Black pushed past him with a barely-there nudge, and the light contact brought Draco out of his musings. Draco almost frowned, but held it in check. He didn't want to antagonise him over trivial matters. After all, the whole point of this madness was for him to get Sirius Black to like him, and well, he didn't think the man was there yet.

Sirius Black silently stalked towards Lupin. Wordlessly, he seized the neck of the bottle from Lupin's hand, and, pulling it into his grasp, studied the label. His jaw clenched, fingers visibly tightening over the bottle-neck.

"Thank you," he gritted out grudgingly. "The wine will be well suited for us."

Draco had to consciously stop himself from smirking openly.

He had been thoroughly educated on the art of choosing fine wines since he was ten and deemed mature enough not to try and sneak a taste. He had put a lot of thought into picking out the bottle of red, and both he and Sirius Black knew that the 1979 Cabernet Sauvignon was the perfect choice. Of course it was, French wines were his specialty.

Mr Head Auror may have gotten him with the tauntingly casual outfit and the little kitchen-dining trick, but Draco was already working towards evening the score.

Sirius Black: 2; Draco Malfoy: 1.

He once again thanked his father for teaching him these skills. Lucius Malfoy may have been disastrously terrible at getting down the 'keeping your precious family safe' part of fatherhood, but he was smashing at the 'teaching your son every little part of being the perfect pureblood so that he doesn't get shown up by his future boyfriend's godfather' part.

Letting out a huff, Sirius Black quietly made his way to the big cooling box in the far corner—the one with the funny name, the 'fredridgerator _',_ if he wasn't mistaken.

While Sirius was away, Lupin leaned in towards Draco worriedly and voiced in a soft, level tone, "I apologise for not meeting you at the fireplace. Sirius wanted to greet you himself, and once that old dog gets an idea in that head of his, it's hard to get him to let it go. Harry was annoyed; he was too excited to wait and ran after Sirius to see you."

He was right; Harry was trying to get to him before his godfather could ambush him properly, right at the entrance itself. That was exactly why his boyfriend was pretending to be so bubbly. He'd have to thank his cunning little boyfriend _properly_ when they got back to Hogwarts.

Lupin continued, first checking to see that his husband was still occupied with the fredridgerator. "Sirius didn't say anything provoking, did he? He promised me that he'd be nice to you."

Draco replied softly with a commiserating smile, "Oh no, Mr Lupin, Lord Black has been perfectly cordial so far."

Lupin sighed in relief, before his face twitched with what could almost be called a flinch.

"Mr Lupin!" He exclaimed in his normal voice. "Oh no, no, please, call me Remus! Nearly an old man myself, but I still can't help but think of my father as Mr Lupin. Oh my, you've been calling me 'sir' all this time, haven't you? How silly of me!"

Draco couldn't help grinning at Lupin's—no, Remus'—amiable frustration. He could see a black head straightening up by the fredridgerator; a mouth opening to speak up, no doubt to ask a pointed and very uncomfortable question regarding the context of their whispered conversation.

Luckily, Harry was there to save them. He'd been silently watching their exchange from his corner, and quickly piped up before Sirius Black could open his mouth.

"You're not that old yet, Remy! Stop putting yourself down!"

Remus laughed, instantly latching on to what Harry was trying to do. "Have you seen the grey in my hair, Harry? I'm definitely catching up in years."

Harry made his way to the dining table, throwing a retort over his shoulder. "Oh please! So you have a little grey here and there—it has nothing on your young heart. Besides, you're still a few months younger than Padfoot, and we've all heard how _young and fit_ he is."

He gave his godfather a cheeky wink, and the man narrowed his eyes playfully, the question on his lips all but forgotten.

Harry sat down before the placement at the far end, smirking smugly like a satisfied cat. "So it stands to reason then, that if Sirius is young and fit _at his age_ , you are even younger and fitter."

Draco grinned. That cheeky, vicious, beautiful boy was his boyfriend—just his—and he had never felt more attracted to Harry in that moment.

Remus spluttered in surprised laughter, and Sirius Black came over to the table as well, looking far too much like an affronted teenager for it to not be funny. "For his age! _For his age_ , he says! I'll have you know that I haven't even touched forty yet! How dare you, you smart-arsed little brat!"

"Haven't touched forty yet, old man, but you sure are pushing it!"

He tackled Harry then, and if Harry's breathless laughter was anything to go on, he was getting tickled mercilessly. The man's grin reminded Draco, funnily enough, of an excited dog.

"Take it back!" Sirius Black was yelling. "Take it back, you cheeky imp!"

"Never!" Harry shouted like a battle cry. "You can't make me!"

Beside him, Remus was hollering things like "stop it, Sirius", and "Padfoot, don't let him fall off the chair!" between bouts of repressed chuckling. Draco couldn't help but smile at the happy little scene before him, finally getting to see a glimpse of the man Harry adored so much. Seeing the formidable Sirius Black act like a squabbling sibling was a refreshing change.

The man happened to look up at Draco just then, and instantly, his mood changed. He stopped tickling his godson and straightened up, wiping the vibrant expression off his features. Harry sat up, disoriented, and when his sharp gaze noted whom his godfather was staring at, his lips tightened. Even Remus grew quiet instantly, sensing the change in atmosphere.

It all happened so fast, Draco felt like he had just experienced whiplash. The uncomfortable quiet in the room made his awkward presence glaringly obvious.

Remus, perceptive as he was, cleared his throat decisively and said, "As I was saying, Draco, I'd like you to call me Remus."

How did Remus even remember what they were talking about before? Draco himself had forgotten their last conversation. The man must have a bloody good memory.

"And as for Sirius," Remus continued, "You don't have to call him Lord Black; there's no need to be so formal. You can call him—"

"Head Auror Black." The man in question interjected quickly. "It's Head Auror Black to you."

Draco could see Harry gearing up to counter his godfather's proclamation, but Remus beat him to the punch.

"Sirius."

The grey eyes rolled up once in annoyance. "Fine. Auror Black."

" _Sirius_."

Auror Black firmed his jaw in the universal sign of someone who wouldn't be persuaded to change his mind. He looked at Draco with a challenge in his eyes, daring him to disagree.

"You will call me Auror Black."

Draco smiled back affably.

"But of course, Auror Black."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It took ten more minutes for them all to get seated and for Remus to serve everyone, placing the now half-empty dishes in the centre of the large round table. Draco estimated it to be about twelve-thirty now—there wasn't a clock in front of him, and he was too nervous to properly look around for one.

The food in front of him looked mouth-wateringly good, and the smells from his plate were even more enticing. He had to fight himself to not pick up his fork and just dig in. There was Yorkshire pudding and gravy, a handsome shepherd's pie of which Remus had served him a generous slice, and tender-looking roast chicken spiced with something that made his olfactory senses absolutely _sing_.

He waited for his hosts to take their first bites before forking a bit of chicken and _oh_ , that had to be the best roast chicken he had eaten in his _life_. He swallowed a moan, and let himself have another bite before complimenting Remus on the food.

"The food is delicious, Remus. This has to be the best chicken I've ever tasted."

"Why thank you, Draco, but the chicken isn't mine. Harry cooked most of the food; I merely stirred the gravy. Helped out a bit with the rest." Remus chuckled softly. "I always did like the idea of being a sous chef."

Draco swung his head forward to see his boyfriend ducking his head abashedly. "You didn't tell me you could cook so well!"

On his left, Auror Black shot him an amused smirk. "Oh yes, our Harry is quite the cook. Didn't you know?"

"I know that he's a terrific baker," Draco answered him. "The brownies he makes are delectable. And well, I did know, on some level, that he could cook, but I certainly didn't expect him to be this good at it!"

Harry gave him a small smile. "You like the food then?"

"Of course I do!" Draco reassured him fondly. Harry could get so insecure about his best talents; it was adorable, but it always served as a reminder of everything his boyfriend had gone through.

Draco cut up a bite of the shepherd's pie, popping it into his mouth quickly. Buttery, fluffy potato melted on his tongue, the flavours in the meat chasing each other for his attention, and the seasoning was something unlike he had ever tasted before. It was utterly heavenly.

He couldn't help a low moan. "Oh Merlin, this is so good, it rivals the chicken!"

He scrambled for another bite, and as he swallowed, he spotted the faint blush on Harry's face.

"This can't be the original recipe, surely?" Draco followed up. "It tastes so much different than the ones I've had before. More… flavourful."

He felt scrutinising eyes on him, and he turned to find Auror Black staring at him with narrowed eyes. He winced internally, realising that he was acting distinctly un-Malfoy-like. Well, he wasn't pigging out like Weasley did, but it was bad enough. He'd fucking _moaned_ at the dinner table.

Only _Harry_ could make him lose his perfectly constructed composure with his perfectly prepared cooking.

Harry responded to him then, and he decided to pretend that the previous few seconds never happened.

"It isn't the original recipe." Harry gave him a quick smile. "I experimented quite a bit in the kitchen when I was younger, and this was one of the recipes I spent most of my time tweaking."

"You certainly did a great job of it." Draco praised him.

"Well, I had to make it good," Harry replied. "Uncle Vernon loved his shepherd's pie."

The pie suddenly felt like ash in his mouth.

The change in mood at the table was subtle, but to his experienced eye, quite palpable. He thought he saw Remus' eyes flash bright gold, but he wasn't really sure because the man was staring _very_ hard at his plate. He was suddenly hit with the realisation that Remus routinely turned into a savage wolf every month, and that the kind man beside him was actually quite dangerous. Auror Black's nose flared in the slightest, and when Harry's head bent down for a spoonful of gravy, the man bared his teeth at his water glass. Draco noticed the sharp canines, and he idly wondered if Auror Black too, was secretly a werewolf.

He could see Harry look up, his content expression morphing into a puzzled frown. He could feel Harry's stare on him, but he was much too preoccupied by his own dark, swirling thoughts. His mind always became a vengeful mess whenever Harry brought up his past with the Dursleys. He couldn't help but latch on to the fact that if he ever decided to…visit the Muggles sometime in the future, the two men on either side of him would gladly back him up, no matter _what_ they thought of him.

He heard Harry speak then, and instantly pulled himself out of his thoughts, because no matter what Harry did, Harry always deserved his full attention. He would _not_ be another Dursley.

"Hey. You're still thinking about it, aren't you?"

Draco wondered who Harry was talking to, and he was surprised when he found Harry looking at _him_.

Harry's eyes gestured down to his hands, and he looked down to find his pale knuckles near bloodless from squeezing the silverware so tight.

"Oh. Right," he said dumbly.

Harry looked at him, _right at him_ , and Draco felt in that moment that to Harry, he was the only one that existed.

"Look," Harry said to him— _just him_ , "The Dursleys are my past. I haven't seen them in so long now, and I don't ever plan to. I've made my peace with them. They weren't so bad, really, they just…misunderstood me. It isn't a mistake that they will get a chance to repeat."

Harry sighed, and his green eyes turned pleading. "I'm fine, Dray, alright?"

Draco swallowed. He wouldn't rehash this again; not here, not now.

"I know, Harry. I know."

Harry smiled at him then, Draco's favourite smile—soft and warm and so, so understanding.

Draco smiled back, feeling like the world's biggest liar.

Harry went back to eating, but Remus looked over at him, lips quirking up in a commiserating smile, and Auror Black gave him the barest hint of a nod, and he knew in that moment that he wasn't the only one in the room feeling like one.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It was exactly twenty-two past one on the large black-rimmed clock hanging on the wall to his right, and Draco felt much more settled now. He was feeling pleasantly stuffed, fresh and content—and still riding the high that came with thwarting Auror Black's attempt to discomfort him.

The meal had progressed in due course after Draco and the two adults had collected themselves. The food on his plate had grown tempting once again—he was a growing teenage boy after all, and he couldn't possibly waste such delicious shepherd's pie.

He had made it a point to say things like " _Auror Black_ , could you pass the pepper please?" and "I can't quite reach the gravy, _Auror Black_ , could you hand me the bowl please?" in his most infuriatingly innocent voice, with just the slightest emphasis on the title. The growing tic in Auror Black's right eye was quite a satisfying sight, if he said so himself. Harry's lips quirked in amusement every time he did it, which Draco considered an added bonus.

Sirius Black: 2; Draco Malfoy: 2.

If Auror Black thought that his strategy of trying to ruffle Draco's dignity by using his higher political status against him would work, then more fool him. Draco was much too concerned with trying to not get skinned alive just for existing to bother with politics.

Ever since he had set eyes on the man today, he had been calling the Auror 'Sirius Black' in his head, because he didn't want to secretly disrespect the man by calling him 'Black' as he used to, and 'Sirius' felt far too informal since he wasn't given permission.

Oh yes, and this was the same Draco Malfoy who had privately nicknamed every member of the Hogwarts staff. (He was especially proud of McGonagall's 'Madame la Tight-Bun'.)

Having something to call the man other than 'Sirius Black' every time was a relief, because he could finally stop having to reprimand himself for turning into an overly-considerate sop. He felt like a fresh-faced Hufflepuff, and it was as miserable as he feared.

Although, he couldn't fault the man for trying to use his Head Auror status to his advantage. Sirius Black was a _legend_ in Auror history.

After he was acquitted at his trial, no one expected him to rejoin the Auror force, considering his strong feelings, rightly antagonistic, towards the Ministry. But he did; he took up his badge soon after he was given the all-clear health-wise.

Against everyone's expectations, he was well on his way in line for the Head Auror post in only a year, having rounded up four-fifths of all the arrested Death Eaters since the Dark Lord's fall with a vengeance that was terrifying. He was granted the post six months ago, becoming the youngest Head Auror in recent history.

Draco suspected that all of Auror Black's commendable work as a junior Auror during the first war worked even more in his favour. He remembered that the man was a senior Auror when he was arrested sixteen years ago, having already been granted the promotion. Auror Black had been trained by Alastor Moody himself, Draco knew, and the man had now gone on to become even more formidable than his old mentor.

Draco would never be persuaded to admit it out loud, but Auror Black was his idol. No proper Slytherin would admit to respecting a Gryffindor, after all, and Auror Black was as Gryffindor as they come. But for a seventeen-year-old boy and a self-proclaimed coward, one who wanted to join the very force his father hated most, Auror Black was a true inspiration.

Playing games with Auror Black gave him a high unlike anything he had ever felt in his life.

When he imagined how this meeting would go, he expected there to be quaking fear, muttered 'yes sirs' and 'no sirs' and a wand at his neck, all before he was inevitably thrown out the Floo. Merlin knew he wasn't blessed with endless wells of courage like Harry. But so far—so far, this was almost…exciting.

They had exchanged pleasantries during the meal, and Draco gave his best answers. Remus asked after his father, and Auror Black had immediately followed up with asking about "his dear cousin Cissy". Draco had regaled him with all the details behind his mother's meticulously planned Yule Ball, and made sure to name-drop some of their most politically powerful guests.

He slipped in a casual line on how Fudge had tried to garner Father and Mother's support for the coming election for the Minister's seat, remembering that old buffoon's simpering attempt at getting Father's attention—conveniently leaving out, of course, the part where his parents had politely rejected him. Auror Black had grit his teeth at every mention of Cornelius Fudge, and it had made Draco want to preen.

Auror Black, on the other hand, made sure to recount tales of the most gruesome cases and confrontations he had been part of—staring very, _very_ , hard at him during the particularly grisly bits. Draco was especially fascinated by the Witham case. Apparently, combining the Entrail Expelling Curse and Expelliarmus, however accidentally, left...permanent...consequences on the one it was cast for, even if they didn't absorb the magic directly. Draco learnt new things every day.

He particularly enjoyed his back and forth with Head Auror Black—thinly veiled threats against his thickly veiled defiances. They traded so many attempts at disarming each other, but Draco didn't stop keeping count—although, he wasn't sure if Auror Black was doing the same. Somehow, their scores always managed to stay even.

He side-stepped each and every one of Auror Black's digs, and threw in a few of his own. It was thrilling, matching words with the youngest Head Auror of the century and managing to stay neck-and-neck with him. It reminded Draco of his one-on-one Seeker games with Harry, when the fun was as much in the flying as in the winning.

He had expertly steered the conversation towards the Muggle literature he had been reading lately, and Remus had instantly latched on to the topic when he mentioned Shelley. The both of them had gone over Mont Blanc for a good few minutes, discussing poetry for a while before moving on to classic literature. Shakespeare had come up a lot during their debate, and Remus had positively gushed over Romeo and Juliet which, for a man so reserved and collected, was quite interesting to watch.

Auror Black seemed to look more and more constipated the longer Remus expounded on "the most profound romantic tragedy of all time" before he finally burst out that Shakespeare's most famous work was "nothing but a load of _glittery Hippogriff shit_ ". Remus then proceeded to cut Auror Black down to size with a fierceness that was truly vicious, with Draco backing him up emphatically and Harry full-on laughing in the background.

Draco had wondered if real families were like that all the time, and for the first time, he envied his Muggleborn counterparts for getting to experience what he never had.

Auror Black had asked him what he was planning on doing after Hogwarts, and it was clear that he didn't expect it when Draco had politely replied that he wanted to join the Auror force. Auror Black had then proceeded to thoroughly grill him about everything, from his reasons for joining the force to what he felt were his most valuable assets. It had honestly felt like an interview, but Draco answered every single question the best he could. Auror Black had sat back with his eyes narrowed, staring at him so hard that he had felt exposed; but then his lips tilted, and his chin jutted, and Draco had gotten the distinct feeling that Auror Black was impressed.

He was still savouring Auror Black's satisfied expression when Remus stood up to clear the dishes. Harry caught his eye and shot him an amused look, and Draco knew that his boyfriend was fully aware of the childish victory dance playing in his head on repeat. He sniffed back at Harry, and were they alone, he might have stuck out his tongue too, just to take his boyfriend by surprise.

He had much to thank his boyfriend for. If Harry hadn't subtly taken the first seat at the table, things might have gone much more differently. But because he did, Draco was able to seat himself directly opposite his boyfriend, leaving Remus and Auror Black to take the seats on either side of him.

Somehow, when Auror Black was beside him, things felt a lot more companionable. Draco supposed that it was a normal feeling. After all, it would be much harder to eat his chicken when Great Britain's Head Auror was glaring from directly across him.

Draco was, quite honestly, surprised at himself—he still couldn't believe that he had come so far into the visit without completely breaking down. Harry had always told him that he had much more courage than he believed; but he had never before bothered to consider that Harry may have been right. He had planned to apply for the more technical side of being an Auror—he didn't trust himself to be brave enough to go out on the field, but maybe it was time to consider that he might not be completely terrible at it.

Planning and strategising were his best assets—the only person he had met so far who could keep up with him strategy-wise other than his own father and Severus was Ron Weasley. Weasley was surprisingly quite insightful, and he made some good moves. Draco enjoyed playing chess and breaking strategies with him—it was the only time when winning a game at Hogwarts was more of a fight than a certainty.

Today's situation felt exactly like those chess games. Draco was so busy planning strategies and diversions that he completely forgot to be wary or afraid of the person he was strategising against. He had operated on the presumption that Sirius Black was a man who appreciated an opponent who gave as good as he got, and he was proven right.

_Maybe he wasn't so bad at facing things head-on_ , he realised. It was true, he would always have more of a flight than fight instinct, but maybe if he viewed every situation as a chess game, he could suppress that instinct. He had wanted to work behind the scene in the Auror force — planning operations, forming strategies, being the man behind every mission—and with his knowledge in potions, he knew that he'd be an indispensable asset within the force. But with this new revelation, he realised that there were a lot more options open to him.

It would be a shame not to put his vast duelling repertoire to good use. After all, everything he knew about the art of duelling was taught to him by his godfather. And everyone knew that Severus Snape was as much a master in duelling as he was in his potions.

It would work out better this way. After all, it would be much harder for him to be the man behind the mission if he wasn't also a part of it.

Remus brushed by him then, placing a dessert plate before him, and he realised that he was so caught up in his evaluation of the past hour and a half that he had completely tuned out his surroundings in the last minute. He smiled up at Remus, thanking him, and took a quick look around to take stock of everything he had neglected to pay attention to while he was out of it.

The used dishes and trays were stacked on the counter nearest to the sink, cutlery placed in an oddly neat pile beside them. Auror Black was stretching in his chair, patting his stomach, and Harry had his elbows up on the table, palms cupping his face adorably as his eyes lazily tracked Remus' movements. He could almost picture his boyfriend kicking his legs under the table, and he couldn't contain a small, fond smile at the thought.

Auror Black must've been puzzled to see his affectionate look, because both his eyebrows shot up at him in confusion. The man followed his gaze, and Harry's sweet, innocent pose seemed to have gotten to him as well, because he smiled just as fondly as Draco.

Draco almost didn't notice Remus bringing out the dessert, lost in his love-induced thoughts, but the scent of the pie brought him back to earth. Was that…?

"Butterscotch and pecan pie," Remus confirmed amusedly, setting it down with a bowl of whipped cream beside it. "Harry remembered that you love pecan just as much as Sirius does."

He set down the knife beside it, and moved to his seat. "Made the crust myself," he added proudly as he sat down.

Draco shared a glance with Auror Black. He didn't know that the man loved pecan desserts as much as him. He took a quick look at his boyfriend, and found Harry looking back at him interestedly, palms still framing his face. Harry gave him an encouraging smile, bordering on amusement, and Draco knew that this was his boyfriend's way of getting him to form a bond of common interest with his godfather.

He looked back at Auror Black and shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. Harry had given him an in with the man, and he'd take it.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It was one fifty-two now, and Draco felt like he never wanted to move again.

He had already felt stuffed with the main meal, having taken seconds with the others, but the large pecan pie before him had looked so stunning that he couldn't help himself. Both he and Auror Black had absolutely gorged themselves, heaping generous spoonfuls of whipped cream over the hefty slices, and now he was starting to regret it. He felt full to bursting, like he'd never be able to walk again and someone would have to roll him over to get him out of the kitchen. He had never eaten so much in his life, not even at the Hogwarts feasts.

Draco had teamed up with Auror Black in silent, mutual agreement, bombarding their partners with lavish compliments. Draco knew the power he wielded with his cultivated charisma, and it seemed that Sirius Black had no shortage of charm himself. Together, they made a pretty remarkable team.

Harry had turned positively red with all their praises, and Draco couldn't help but think again that his boyfriend was adorable. Harry's small smile had grown bigger and bigger, until he finally agreed with a big grin that he would make more pecan desserts for the both of them. They had immediately stopped with the compliments, playfully listing off, in perfect tandem, suggestions of different recipes for Harry to try. Harry had looked overwhelmed, resigned and delighted, all at the same time, and Draco felt proud of himself for eliciting so many emotions in his boyfriend.

They had made sure to compliment Remus on his pie crust just as effusively, and the resulting pleased smile on the man's scarred face warmed Draco's heart. He felt particularly accomplished when Remus tried unsuccessfully to hide a happy grin at one of his most flattering lines. Auror Black had flashed him a quick smirk, seeing his husband's reaction, and Draco had to fight a dopey grin, because the man hadn't given him his usual threatening or challenging smirk, no, but a proper, honest-to-Merlin, _smile_ -likesmirk.

Auror Black teased his husband with a devilish grin throughout dessert, constantly bringing up the sheer amount of chocolate Remus had put into the crust, only stopping with a hearty laugh when Remus had been provoked enough to bite out an exasperated, "Shut _up_ , Pads!"

Harry's godparents were adorable together, and Draco loved seeing their light-hearted dynamic play out before him. He had never before seen an older couple act so openly playful before, and it was gratifying to watch.

They had all continued chatting at the table even after the pie plate was completely cleaned out. Moving was still a daunting task, so soon after they had eaten, and they were all content to just sit there for a while.

Much of the conversation was contributed by him and Remus, Harry quietly watching them all from his seat with a content smile. Auror Black had slowly been retreating into himself, his features gradually losing their animated look, and he looked like he was gearing up for something.

Draco knew what was coming, and he felt as ready for it as he could possibly get. He was sated with a good meal, confident from his performance so far, and still riding the wave of pleasant emotions that came from having Sirius Black almost-smile at him.

Frankly, he was much too lazy from his full belly to have the mental capacity required for fear.

Auror Black cleared his throat, putting on a determined face that looked disturbingly like Harry's. Draco idly wondered if Remus felt the same sense of foreboding he did when his partner felt the need to don that particular expression.

Auror Black cleared his throat lightly, then quickly stood up. Draco was impressed that he didn't wobble instantly, considering how much he had eaten. It wasn't polite to count how many Yorkshire puddings one ate, but wow, had the man put away a lot of them.

"Malfoy, I need to speak with you."

Harry's sleepy contentment instantly morphed into indignation, and Remus directed a concerned look towards him.

Draco was touched that Remus' first reaction was to check whether he was okay with Auror Black's request - he had come here with the intention of getting the man to like him, thus getting him on his side, but he hadn't considered that he would end up liking the man just as much. He should've factored it, though. Remus Lupin was very likeable.

Draco stood up as well, much slower than Auror Black to steady his feet (he didn't want to fall flat on his stomach because that would _hurt_ ) and gave Harry and Remus reassuring looks. It instantly quelled the sassy retort Draco knew was on the tip of Harry's tongue, and Remus too, relaxed subtly.

"Don't use this as an excuse to get out of helping me do the dishes, Padfoot," Remus said, with a mild warning look.

It was almost funny how Draco could already tell, just from two hours in close contact with the man, that the milder the look on his face, the more dangerous it really was. He supposed that it was his inner self-preservation doing its job.

Auror Black recognised the look as well, if his sheepish expression and nervously bobbing Adam's apple was anything to go on. Although, Draco realised, the recognition could be more from hard-earned experience than self-preservation, in his case.

"Of course not, Moony darling," the man tried to laugh it off. "Would I do that to you?"

Remus' raised eyebrow was hilariously unimpressed. "You? In a heartbeat."

Auror Black laughed awkwardly.

"Don't do anything stupid, Pads," Remus continued in a tone that was impossibly milder.

The man gulped.

Draco decided to take pity on his situation. Maybe if he helped Auror Black now, the man would go easier on him.

"Lead the way, Auror Black."

Auror Black nodded tightly, and made his way quickly out of the kitchen. Draco followed after him, taking a deep breath. The one-on-one conversation they would be having was inevitable and inescapable. Draco knew this, and he was as ready as he could possibly be.

He allowed himself a last glance back at Harry's thumbs-up and encouraging smile before he walked out the door.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

One fifty-nine. It was one fifty-nine now—seven whole minutes of being on tenterhooks, watching Sirius Black get himself settled in that damnable red monstrosity of an armchair. They were in the horrifyingly red sitting room—because _of course_ , anything to make him as uncomfortable as possible—and Draco was ready to jump out of his skin with all the waiting.

Two o'clock. The garish grandfather clock by the fireplace chimed softly (where in the world did Sirius Black find a red grandfather clock?), its bright gold pendulum swaying lazily. Draco made sure to constantly keep an eye on the time for future reference, because details were always important. He didn't expect to file an assault report in the Ministry, nor would he want to, because it would just be his word against their Head Auror's, but it paid to be safe.

The man had cast several locking and silencing spells on the closed door—all of them Auror grade—and the ominous feeling was making Draco's nerves even more prominent.

Auror Black nestled himself in the stuffed chair a final time, sighing in relief when it didn't put pressure against his stomach. At least, that was Draco's conclusion. The man could just be putting on a show to drag out the minutes and make him as unsettled as possible, for all he knew.

"Ah, much better," Auror Black said. "You comfortable?"

"Yes sir, I am," Draco replied, wanting to get all the pleasantries over with as soon as possible.

"Alright then, you probably know what this is all about," the Auror continued. "I'm gonna ask you some questions now."

"Of course, Auror Black. What would you like to know?"

"Okay, first question. Who is more foolish—the fool, or the fool who thinks the fool is a fool?"

_What?_

Draco just stared. He was expecting some creative question-and-answer version of "if you hurt him, I will break you", but this—he wasn't at all prepared for _this_.

Auror Black gazed at him expectantly. Draco blinked once.

Oh, right. The man wanted an answer.

"Well, I think that it is the fool who is foolish." He blinked again, trying to specify that answer. "Fool. Single repetition." He nodded decisively.

Auror Black looked mildly astonished, like he didn't expect Draco to give an actual intelligible answer, which really—how presumptuous. Draco should have been offended by that.

"And how do you figure that? Why not the second person?"

That he could answer. Logic was his forte.

"Well sir, the fool who thinks the fool is a fool is clearly an accurate judge of character. Thus, he is, in actuality, not a fool. It stands to reason then, that the second half of the question is purposely misleading and I can affirm, from the information given to me, that there is only one fool."

"Quick thinker," he heard the man mutter quietly.

Draco fought the urge to smirk.

The man smiled suddenly, sardonically amused.

"Your father taught you word play, then?"

"Godfather, actually."

"Huh. Good call."

"Agreed, sir. It comes in handy sometimes."

"Hmm, I bet it does."

Auror Black trailed off, but if Draco hoped for a little reprieve, he certainly wasn't deemed worthy of one. Was it too much to hope for, say, one hour without him feeling like his head was being pulled around in all different directions?

Auror Black grunted and leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands together. Draco idly wondered why the man decided to move not two minutes into a new position when he spent eight whole minutes settling into his old one.

"You clean?"

_What kind of question was that?_ was his first, slightly hysterical would have sniffed at himself if he had less self-control, even though he logically knew that he wouldn't find anything foul, considering his rigorously maintained hygiene.

"I, uh, showered before coming here, sir, if that's what you're asking."

"What? No!"

Auror Black gave him a look of utter condescension, as if he was a particularly dimwitted five-year old. He dropped his eyes down to the (red) carpet and sighed, before looking back up with renewed determination.

"I meant sexually. Do you use protection?"

A beat of silence.

"Every time, sir."

"Good, that's something. What's your sexual history?"

Draco had to fight himself so hard not to screech manically and run out the door, and he felt drained just from the effort. He forced himself to calmly think of a diplomatic yet firm denial.

"I don't think I am under obligation to reveal that to you, sir."

Not his best diplomatic reply, no, but well, he had been caught off-guard.

"Ahh, no, you're not." Auror Black ran a hand through his hair frustratedly. Draco really did get offended now. He was the one getting blindsided every second - if anyone deserved to be frustrated, it was _him_.

The man leaned forward even further, and stared up at him through his lashes. It reminded Draco of McGonagall when she glared at her students from the top of her glasses.

"Look, I know what you're like. Been there myself, back before I started dating Remus. I can't fault you for being a playboy, because I was one myself once, but I _can_ make sure that you don't drag my godson into the inevitable mess that's sure to happen if you don't—"

"I'm sorry, what?"

Later, he might feel abashed at interrupting Auror Black when he had resolved to conduct himself perfectly, no matter what the man threw at him. But now, he couldn't be less bothered about manners.

"You think I'm a…a _jouisseur?_ A libertine?"

Black—for he was demoted to being _Black_ for the moment, Draco couldn't _believe_ what the man had just implied—blinked at Draco's French but composed himself quickly.

"Well, no, of course not, I'm sure you haven't gotten that far yet—but you _are_ a bit of a player, aren't you? Were one, at the very least. The signs are all there! The charm, the silver tongue, the flattery, the way you control intonation—"

"The way I _what_?"

"—and I saw what you did with Harry back at the entrance. Lowered voice, deeper pitch, emphasis on the name—you had every basic seduction technique down to a fault! You can't master a technique like that without years of practice, I should know!"

Didn't Black notice the way Harry seduced him too? Harry was practically giving him his best bedroom eyes back there, and the man was blaming _him_?

"Harry had better not be another conquest, Malfoy! If you're doing this just to shag him and leave him, so help me—"

" _I'm not!_ " Draco interjected again. He couldn't take any more of this. "I'm not… _playing_ him, alright? I haven't gotten around as much as you think I have, believe me! And if you think that all this is just an elaborate scheme to bed him, then why do you think I'm here? Why would I subject myself to all of _this_ unless my feelings for him are genuine?"

"I—you aren't—but I—" Black stopped in his tracks.

Draco sighed. He didn't want to divulge so much information, but he didn't like that the man he respected thought so little of him, even though he technically didn't have any reason to think particularly _well_ of him either. Yet.

"Look, Auror Black, I've had only two relationships before. Pansy and I are much better as friends; we couldn't pull off a relationship at all. And Tomas," he hissed a little, grimacing, "let's not talk about Tomas."

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, it was."

"And were you sexually active with them?"

"Just with Tomas. About the only thing that worked for us."

"I see. Never heard about this Tomas kid before, gotta say. Harry and his friends tell me a lot about the kids in their year, but I've never heard of him."

"Oh, that's because he's in the year above us. Slytherin."

Black's sudden expression of realisation was almost comical. He muttered to himself, but Draco could easily catch it.

"Year above—so you _have_ bottomed before."

Draco was caught up in his amusement at seeing Black mutter victoriously to himself like a kid winning his first bet. It really was comical, and was the only excuse he could think of for why he next spoke so distractedly, opening his mouth like a loon.

"Oh no, a Malfoy always top—"

His words caught up to him, and his eyes widened in the slightest. Why did he say that aloud? Oh, right, because Sirius Black thought he bottomed with Tomas. Wait, what?

"What?" He asked the man.

"What?" He received, with a confused eye-twitch.

"But you said—"

"And _you_ said—"

Draco finally let his horror at the situation bleed out into his expression, eyes widening to the size of Quaffles. Across him, Black mirrored his horrified look, all the way down to the round eyes.

Draco had to spend a couple of seconds collecting himself, opting to pretend that the last few minutes had never happened. He was so mortified by the situation, and his reaction, that it just never occurred to him to consider _why_ Sirius Black had said what he did.

He cleared his throat, a little forcefully maybe, but he had to say _something_ to alleviate the tension in the room. Maybe if he bared his heart a bit more, played on the man's sentimental side, there'd be no more opportunity for slip-ups like the one he had just suffered.

"Look sir, I've never had a proper relationship before Harry. Pansy and I, we were meant to be betrothed, which was why we tried to make a relationship work. It almost tore our friendship apart. And Tomas, well, I was...unsure, still figuring things out and—he was _there_."

Drao sighed. "It sounds terrible, I know, but he was willing and interested and I couldn't help but take the opportunity. Being with him was…difficult, to put it mildly. It was what I should have expected from another Slytherin, if I'm honest. But I never imagined it to be as bad as it was, and that was my mistake. Harry's the first person I've properly been with, truly been with, and I'm...unopposed...to making this one work, putting in the effort. Harry's worth all of it."

Black seemed agitated at the start of his impromptu speech, but as he got to the part with Harry, the man almost looked to be repressing a proud little smile. Draco was sure that it was just him projecting, but he couldn't deny that he wished it was true.

He certainly was proud of himself. Heart-to-hearts weren't his thing, and he never had them with anyone except Harry (only when his boyfriend forced the issue, but he'd never admit it), but he had _nailed_ this one.

"Too damn right you are," Black told him, his expressions oscillating exaggeratedly to the point of hilarity. Draco wasn't able to pick out even one of them, they changed so fast. "Harry is worth everything. No one knows that better than me, believe me."

"I know, sir," Draco replied softly, the slightest smile on his face. "Harry told me everything." He frowned, as he realised that it wasn't completely true. "Well, almost everything. He refused to tell me about the nicknames. And Snuffles, whatever that is."

Black let out a single, solid bark of laughter at his confession. "Of course he didn't."

He didn't elaborate further, and Draco couldn't help his disappointment. He was _curious_ , dammit. How in the world did they come up with such odd nicknames?

Black's expression turned fond, and noticeably nostalgic. "Ah, the nicknames, I could never forget that. Moony was reading this spy novel—I forget what it was about, they all sound the same to me—and James wanted code names too. The git must've called at least five emergency Marauder meetings, I reckon, one of them right as I was about to get into Gideon's pants. Merlin's tits, wasn't I mad then."

Black chuckled to himself, and Draco found himself inevitably sucked into his tale.

"James was the one to come up with my nickname. He threw out all these terrible ones, and Padfoot was the only one that wasn't half cringeworthy. Did it on purpose too, I'll bet. Right sod he was, old Jamie. Fuck, I miss the git."

The man's expression turned melancholic, and the poignancy of his words echoed in his thick tone, slightly trembling from emotion. His sadness was palpable, and Draco instantly felt bad for being annoyed at the man.

"James would have relished doing this. You'd have loved him, I'm telling you. He had this neat old trick he used to experiment with—he'd glare at someone over his soup-spoon and damn, was it ever potent. I think he'd once gotten that cad Fenwick to piss himself, he was that good. Only worked with his soup though, for some reason. He'd just look like a twitchy, constipated bloke if he tried it with his puddings, but then again, it could be because he was such a messy eater. I just _know_ he'd get Lily to make her special tomato herb soup and try to terrorise you with it. If it would've worked on you, he'd be crowing about it for at least a year. Ah, you'd have loved him."

Draco doubtedhe'd love James for attempting to make him wet himself. It didn't sound like the basis of a healthy relationship with his boyfriend's father. He couldn't deny, though, that from all he had heard from the now six people so far, James Potter undoubtedly had a very...strong...personality.

(The majority of his information had come from Severus, but he knew to take it with a grain of salt because there was a solid possibility that his godfather was very biased against James Potter. The frequent mentions of "that good-for-nothing, wretched bastard" certainly seemed to hint at it.)

Sirius Black's voice grew hoarse as he continued, and his gaze met the crackling flames in the nearby fireplace, looking into the depths of the flickering blaze, not meeting Draco's eyes.

"Jamie would have been a great father. As good as old man Potter, if not better. Fleamont was such a great dad, and James wanted to prove that he was as good. He had this whole plan to raise Harry—"

The man's voice finally cracked, and Draco felt swept away by the man's emotions.

"I remember him pacing in the living room when Lily was pregnant, he had nearly turned that old carpet threadbare. And Moony suggested making a list, as he always did, and for the first time in his life, Prongs _actually_ agreed...Merlin, I laughed at him so hard. He made such a good list too—Moony and I helped. I had it framed for his birthday, thought it'd be a right joke, but the plonker loved it."

He smirked a little, still staring into the flames, and with his tightened eyes and sombre profile, Draco had the distinct impression that Sirius Black was still very much a haunted man. He had moved on impressively from his tragic past—but there were some things that never quite left a man.

"One of the first things he'd tried to write was that he wouldn't let his kid date at all until they'd at least turned thirty. Moony had to wrestle the quill from his hand, he was that adamant. Remus had given him this big lecture on taking things one step at a time, but Prongs was already planning out his dad speech, and both Moony and I knew it. And when Prongs gave me Harry at the hospital, the first thing he told me was to work on my godfather speech, because Harry had Lily's eyes and his own speech couldn't possibly be enough to keep away the admirers." He smiled. "It had to be the most unconventional way of naming a godfather, but that was Jamie for you."

Sirius Black turned towards him then, and Draco almost felt overwhelmed by the sheer guilt in those grey eyes. "I'm not going to give you a shovel talk. I won't. That was Prongs' job, and I'm not going to substitute for him. Jamie called dibs, and even death couldn't take away a claim made by James Potter. He used to say so himself." He smiled a bit, trying to crack one of his usual jokes, but his mouth fell flat instantly.

The man's eyes, his gaze hard from pain, bore into Draco's, seemingly trying to make him understand. "Harry's such a great kid, so easy to love, but no matter what I do, I'm not his father. I can't take James' place. It isn't my right. _I'm not Harry's father_."

Auror Black—because Draco couldn't _not_ call him Auror Black now, the man's title was clearly hard-won and well-earned, and he deserved all of Draco's respect—glared abruptly, and honestly, he didn't even need a soup-spoon to look scary, because his glare was _literal_ fire. Draco sat stock-still, afraid that if he moved even a single inch, he'd lose control of his inexplicable urge to hide behind the hideous red draperies in the darkest corner of the room.

"But, if you hurt my pup, if you harm a single hair on my godson's precious head, I will use my status as Head Auror to do things to you that you could have never imagined in your wildest nightmares. Malfoy, I will fuck you up. I'll fuck you up worse than You Know Who ever could. Do you understand me?"

Draco could only nod. "Yes, sir."

He glanced at the grandfather clock as subtly as he could. Two eighteen.

"And that goes for his emotional well-being too. I know what you Malfoys are like, you and your mind games. Don't you dare hurt my pup with all your fucking mind games. Communication is a thing. Use it. Oh Merlin, I sound like Remus."

Draco was pretty sure that Remus didn't sound like that, nor was he as liberal with his use of the word "fuck."

"I've had the pleasure of dealing with your father, more than I'd like, and I know all tactics he uses to avoid conversations. Lucius could muddle the most intelligent of people with all that smooth talk. I don't doubt that he's taught you all those...skills...of his, and loathe as I am to admit it, they have their uses. Those bloody purebloods are all sharks, and I don't deny the need for those...skills. But let me tell ya, kid, mind games and word play have no place in a proper relationship. It isn't healthy, and sometimes it's better to talk things out than simply avoid it. Words hurt, but silence hurts more. Got it, Malfoy?"

"Yes, sir." Draco wasn't sure when exactly this came about, but Sirius Black's 'hurt him and I'll break you' monologue had, somewhere along the way, turned into a 'I'm gonna teach you the do's and don'ts of a good relationship, kid' speech. He wondered when _that_ hadhappened.

"And yes, you say you have experience in the sack, but I'm quite sure that old Lucius didn't bother giving you a proper 'wands and cauldrons' talk, so if you have any questions at all, you come to me, got it? Ask me directly, send me a letter, whatever you'd like, kid. I don't want you hurting Harry in any way, and that includes sex. Also, Harry's quite scary, you know, takes after his mother, Remus too, a bit, and there's nothing better to get a man on your good side than to keep him properly satisfied. If you need me to teach you—"

Merlin's shaggy, grizzled beard, this man had no boundaries whatsoever.

"I've got it covered, sir," he hastily cut in. "I have all the information I need in regards to the...subject."

Auror Black looked disbelieving. "Are you telling me that _Lucius Malfoy_ gave you the sex talk? Get outta here. Impossible!"

"No, no," Draco clarified, embarrassed at the very thought of the topic he was currently discussing with his boyfriend's Head Auror godfather. "Father didn't...himself. He, uh, got a house-elf to do it."

"Pshh, really? _That_ must've been real helpful."

"Yes," he acquiesced with an agreeing little smile. "It was quite traumatic. And very confusing. But—" he quickly continued when he noticed the man begin to open his mouth, "—my godfather did give me a good book. With all the information I need. And he lets me ask questions if I need clarification on anything, as long as they aren't asinine or juvenile."

Auror Black raised his eyebrows in an impressed stance, and his lips quirked wryly. "Well, damn. There goes our good bonding experience."

"Ahaha, yes, real shame," Draco acknowledged falsely with an awkward laugh, unsure of how else he should reply. The man's lips quirked, but he didn't draw attention to Draco's obvious falseness.

After a few seconds of silence, Auror Black straightened. "I'm not going to quit my investigation into your father's activities, kid, even if you're dating my godson." His face was serious, almost challenging. "You don't have a problem, do you?"

Yes, he was definitely being challenged.

"With all due respect, Auror Black, your business with my father is just that. It is Father's concern, not mine. I am not in any way a part of your dealings, and I prefer to stay neutral to the situation. While I have faith in my father, I have just as much in your capabilities as Head Auror."

Of course he had faith in Father. Lucius Malfoy may have decided to grovel at the feet of another—a highly imbecilic choice in Draco's opinion—but regardless of his years of foolishness, his father never failed to look out for himself. A significant portion of the Malfoy fortune may have found itself in countless, filthy hands—but said portion had already served its sole purpose of letting Lucius Malfoy cover his own ass. Sirius Black was very talented in his trade, but he wouldn't be able to find anything if he interrogated every single person in Great Britain. Of that, Draco had no doubt.

He could see the confusion in Auror Black's eyes at his statement, but also the beginnings of annoyance. The man had a quick mind, and soon enough, he'd undoubtedly decipher the hidden meaning in Draco's reply. He didn't want the man to take out his frustration on him.

Draco decided to voice his concerns. There was a first time for everything, surely.

"Sir, I—I'd appreciate it if you kept my father's doings separate from my own, and treat me for who I am. I'm not my father, and his accomplishments and mistakes aren't mine."

It was as bold as he could get in his acknowledgement that yes, his father had made mistakes. He hoped that Auror Black was intuitive enough to pick up on it.

Auror Black's eyes furrowed, then smoothed out, and Draco knew that the man had caught it. It both elated and terrified him that he could read the Head Auror's cues, only by being in his presence for a few hours. He wondered what that said about him.

Auror Black's eyes softened almost imperceptibly, and his lips turned up subtly, and yes, _yes_ that was an impressed smile. Draco was positive. It was written all over the man's face, if you knew where to look.

"I'll see what I can do, kid," Auror Black responded in his throaty, slightly gruff voice, but for the first time, there was no challenging undertone.

_Yes_. He had finally done it.

They lapsed into silence again, the atmosphere this time infinitely more comfortable. Auror Black didn't seem like someone who could deal with silence effectively, but he was doing a marvellous job of not disturbing the peace.

Draco could get with it. The past twenty-five minutes had been a roller-coaster of terror and adrenaline, and he appreciated the breather.

He really needed to work on being fully alert for long periods if he wanted to be a good Auror. It was the one thing he lacked proper practice in. He'd been on edge for the past few hours, and he could feel the toll of its effects wearing on him.

Constant vigilance was a sentiment he could appreciate, but was fundamentally opposed to because well, it was the principle of the thing. Merlin, even after everything, he still hated Moody.

It was nearing half-past two when Auror Black spoke up again.

"I have to ask you, Malfoy, because I just cannot get this out of my head. You say that you _didn't_ go around seducing half the school, but if you didn't learn smooth-talking that way, then how the _bloody hell_ did you pick it up? I know your father, and his methods of charming people are much, much different."

Draco almost laughed. It was so like this man to obsess over _that_ , of all the revelations that came about within the past half hour.

"Ahh, sir, I wouldn't really know about that," he replied. "I guess, well, you see, my godfather has this way of talking to people. I may have learnt my words from Father, but the delivery is all him. It isn't a well-known fact, but even though his cutting tongue is legendary, my godfather is quite different in his interactions with the people he respects. He is polite and genuine. He has taught me everything I know, from body language to the perfect way to pitch my voice."

"Is that so?" asked Auror Black, looking interested.

"Yes, sir," he affirmed with a slight smile. "My godfather has been instrumental in my teaching."

"So I see," the man murmured. Louder, he said, "I expected you to have a limited upbringing, I'll admit, but I see that you have a well-rounded experience. It's...refreshing…to see that in another pureblood. James was lucky, but most heirs don't have that fortune."

He nodded appreciatively, and pointed a decisive finger at Draco. "I like your godfather. Good man."

Draco had to bite his lip to repress manic laughter. If only the man knew just _whom_ he had complimented so ardently.

"Who _is_ your godfather anyway? It never came up."

"Oh, he's a good family friend. Father has known him for a long time, since Hogwarts." Draco had to forcibly temper his tone so as to not give away anything. He wanted to see the look on Sirius Black's face when he realised that….

"Hmm, that's funny, I don't remember anyone special hanging 'round Malfoy in Hogwarts. No one except slimy Sniv…wait. Wait a minute. _Sniv—Snape's_ your godfather?!"

Draco fought back laughter. Oh, the look on the man's face was so worth it.

He had to find out the story behind Auror Black's slip up. That was twice in the same line. He'd have so much _fun_ getting that story out of Severus.

The hurt from past actions had ebbed away, but both the annoyance and enmity had stayed on. Severus' mouth always screwed up like he was tasting a sour lemon every time he spoke about the Marauders, and the expression on his usually stoic features was beyond hilarious.

Auror Black was still spluttering madly, his face coloured a splotchy red. He seemed to be incapable of sound speech, his expressions swapping from horror to disgust to embarrassment to horror in rapid succession, and Draco finally understood why Harry loved to wind his godfather up so much.

"How—why—I can't believe I _complime_ —of all the bloody—why—Snivel—your godfather—"

It was getting harder to hold in the laughter. Draco was biting his lip again, worrying it between teeth—a terrible habit he had unfortunately picked up from his boyfriend. Auror Black ended his botched attempt at a response with a sudden, intelligible outburst, and Draco finally lost it.

"I will not be made to be nice to Snape! I refuse! He might be your godfather but he's still _bloody Snape_ , and not even Moony can change my mind this time, no matter how sweet or sexy he—oi, what are you laughing at, Malfoy?! Stop laughing, you little—I can't believe you tricked me into complimenting the bloody git! Oi, quit howling, brat!"

Draco wasn't howling. Malfoys never howl.

Instead, he was bent double in his cushioned armchair, loudly sniggering, tears springing to his eyes from the force of his laughter. Auror Black's reaction was pretty funny, but not enough for him to lose his composure, not to this level, and not with _this_ much gusto. But the tightly-wound tension from the past hours' ordeal needed an outlet, and his unrestrained laughter felt almost cathartic.

Auror Black was still throwing out obscenities, pouting like a little child as he sat back grumpily with his arms crossed. He devolved into muttering soon enough, which sent Draco into another fit of laughter.

"Bloody Malfoys and their bloody dumb sense of humour—oughtta do something 'bout it before it gets to their heads—"

Finally, finally Draco managed to rein in his amusement, quieting himself down. Auror Black still looked affronted, but he had calmed down too, for the most part.

"Two Malfoys _and_ a Snape," Auror Black groaned dramatically. "You're a good enough kid, but your two hangers-on are _really_ making me reconsider your worth."

Draco nearly succumbed to laughter again, but then the line Auror Black had let slip filtered through his amusement-addled mind.

"You think I'm good-enough?" he asked hopefully. "Really?"

The words seemed to catch up to the man then, and he raised his palms out in a 'slow down' gesture. "Woah, woah, kid, I never said that. I said that you're a good enough _kid_ , not good enough for Harry. No one could be good enough for my pup."

"But you _don't_ think that I'm the spawn of the devil."

"Well, Lucius Malfoy _could_ be considered the dev—"

"You know what I meant!"

"Okay, yes, I did, I was messing with you. And well, I used to. But you're a smart kid, think quickly on your feet, deal well under pressure, conceal emotions like a poker champ—I like that in a person. You'd make a good Auror with enough training. Harry saw something in you, and I trust Harry's character assessment immensely. That was good enough for me, but you really proved yourself today, Malfoy."

"Oh, uh, thank you, Auror Black. Praise from a man of your calibre, it's...thank you."

_Auror Black had said something nice about him!_

"Well, I guess you can call me Sirius. You've earned it, Blondie."

Now if he was Longbottom, he'd shriek like a girl, then clap his hands over his mouth in embarrassed shame, as he rightly should. If he was bloody Weasley, he'd nod his head stupidly and say something dumb like "right on, mate, that'd be great", and he'd probably talk with his mouth full too, because Ron Weasley wasn't never found without food, ever. If he was Blaise, he'd make some silly pun, because Blaise Zabini was just a pun kinda guy, as Harry so eloquently put it, and the man's very _name_ was fair game.

But he was Draco freaking Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy did not do stupid things. Sigh. He'd almost prefer to be shrieking like Longbottom—that seemed like such an accurate response.

Also, the 'Blondie' sounded pretty ominous, and gave him a bad feeling. Sirius' ( _Sirius'!_ ) roguish grin wasn't easing his worry, not in the slightest.

"Thank you, Sirius," he said, composed as ever, "and you can call me Draco, of course."

The wide smile on _Sirius'_ ( would he ever get used to this?) face stretched to wider proportions.

"Oh, no, no, I think I prefer Blondie," _Sirius_ said, with what Weasley would've called a 'shit-eating grin'. He could finally understand the significance of what he usually considered to be unnecessary vulgarity.

He was right to feel worried. _Blondie_ , honestly? He should have known that there'd be a catch, even if said catch was unintentional, and made up on the spot.

"Blondie? You sure?" he questioned, because he was an idiot who liked to call attention to his humiliation.

"Hmm, yes, it suits you. Blondie it is," _Sirius_ replied with a smug, satisfied look.

Draco sighed. If that's what it took to remain on the man's good side, he had no choice but to deal with it.

"Oh, and _Blondie_?"

"Yes, _Sirius_?"

"I know I got all mushy back there, but all that's strictly off the record. Under no circumstances will you repeat any of that to _anybody_. You tell anyone that I told you that and your ass is grass. _Capiche_?"

Sirius' face was hard enough to shatter glass, and Draco wondered if this was Sirius Black's 'Auror' expression. It sure was effective. Not even the conflictingly hilarious analogy could allay his involuntary fear.

" _Capiche_ , sir."

"And the same goes for what I said about Snape. Do not breathe a word of it to anyone, human, animal or object. Least of all to Snape himself. Am I clear?"

Damn. There went that idea. Luckily, circumvention was Father's first Malfoy lesson in outmanoeuvring, and he wasn't above using it. He _really_ wanted to see Severus' lemon-sucking face again when he related this to his godfather.

"Crystal, sir."

"So we have an agreement, Blondie?"

"Of course, Sirius."

"Well then," Sirius said with a bright grin, the swiftness of his change in demeanor causing Draco whiplash, "I guess you're alright, Blondie."

"Um, thank you?"

"I still think that dealing with two Malfoys and a Snape is far too much trouble, but Harry could do worse, I expect."

"Oh," Draco replied, pleasantly surprised. "Thank you, sir. And if it makes you feel better, I'd found _Cormac McLaggen_ sniffing around Harry last year, before we got together."

"McLaggen, McLag—" The name struck a chord with Sirius then, as evidenced by his truly horrified expression. "Oh hell, no. Any relation to that pompous Ministry kiss-up? Tiberius McLaggen?"

Draco grimaced in sympathy. "Tiberius' nephew. Just like his uncle, that git is."

Sirius' face soured, "Tibby, that bloody bastard, is a bloody pain to the Auror department. Can't count the number of times he messed up my evidence. That puffed up, entitled, pretentious…"

Draco just nodded commiseratingly. He himself couldn't count the sheer number of times he'd gone on those very rants to himself about Cormac McLaggen, most notably last year.

When Sirius trailed off, he straightened up and asked quickly, "Did he make any moves on Harry? How far did he go?"

"Oh the usual," Draco replied with forced casualness, "He kept flirting with Harry, showing off—always bumping into Harry on purpose and striking conversation. Harry, of course, didn't notice a _thing_."

Sirius snorted with what was definitely relief. "Sounds like our Harry."

Draco hummed in agreement. "Yes, that silly dolt's obliviousness made for quite some interesting times. I had to do all the fending off myself."

Sirius' mouth turned up in amusement. "Were you jealous?"

"Who, me?" Draco asked, offended. "Of course not! Why would I be jealous of that pompous idiot? It wasn't like Harry was showing signs of being interested, and besides, I'm way better than that prick, thank you very much."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, unsatisfied, and Draco crumbled like pecan pie. "I'd have just preferred it if Harry didn't give him the time of day, that's all. But you know what Harry's like, too polite to brush off someone unless they're being purposefully offensive."

"So, you were jealous?"

"I was _not_."

"It's okay to admit it, Blondie."

He had not been jealous. That was an utter lie.

"Fine, maybe a little."

"Hah, knew it," Sirius exclaimed, and Draco narrowed his eyes in warning. "Alright, alright, don't get pissy now, Blondie. And you were right, by the way. That did make me feel better. Much better." He straightened up, growing serious. "I have but one last question."

He leaned forward, clasping his fingers.

"Cannons or Arrows?"

Draco smiled, relieved. He didn't think he could take more of Sirius' special brand of questioning. This was easy.

"Prefer the Falcons myself, actually. But Arrows over Cannons, any day. Any team is better than the _Chudley Cannons_."

Sirius smiled back, his face exhibiting relief as well.

"Oh thank Merlin, I thought you were going to say Cannons."

"Cannons?! Why in Salazar's name would I _ever_ choose the Cannons? No offense, Sirius, but I wouldn't fake an interest in those miserable neon-blinded dead-losses, not even to get in your good graces."

"None taken, Blondie. I can get behind that opinion. And well, how was I to know? Harry loves the Cannons!"

"Oh, I know, it's disastrous. I've been trying to get Harry off the dark side, or I guess in this case, off the _fluorescent_ side, but he's remained adamant so far."

And then the implication sank in.

"Wait, you thought that I'd support the Cannons just because Harry does? _Really?!_ "

Sirius looked completely unapologetic.

"What was I to think?! I've been watching you for hours, and really, Blondie, I've looked in the mirror enough to recognise the look of a man—uh, boy—completely whipped."

"I am _not_ whi—"

"I find the Falcons a mite too vicious sometimes, but they've got good strategies. And, unlike the Cannons, their robe choices don't make my eyes water."

"Exactly!"

"I support Puddlemere too, it's my obligation, really—"

"Hmm, yes, the _Gryffindor_ team."

"—but the Falcons are my number one too."

"...you have good taste, Sirius."

"Why thank you, Blondie. It's good to have someone on my side. I love Moony dearly, but he doesn't care a whit for Quidditch, which is just not on. And Harry! The Cannons, honestly, why did the Weasley boy have to teach him _that,_ of all things?"

"I swear, everything is _always_ Weasley's fault."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It was nearly three now, and they were showing no signs of stopping. Draco had barely glanced at the big red clock, so engrossed was he in their conversation.

They had gone from sitting down in their armchairs near the fireplace, debating the Falcon Seeker's chances this Quidditch season, to Sirius showing him the inscription along the side of the great red grandfather clock—a housewarming gift from Sirius' cousin Andromeda, Mother's sister—as he talked about how he had conceptualised the sitting room in all its scarlet glory, purely to annoy Remus. (Draco believed this, but he also suspected that Sirius' not-so-secret desire to project his Gryffindor appreciation into tangibility played a big part of it.)

Sirius had then walked him over to the red draperies as they talked about fabrics and thread counts, after which, to Draco's incomprehensive glee, the conversation had somehow shifted to chess strategies, and then to Auror strategies.

They were now standing by the closed door, still talking about the strategic plan Sirius had invented for his latest case—they had infiltrated a meeting comprising entirely of Britain's biggest black-market ring's top bosses, including the mastermind herself, and Draco was utterly fascinated with the intricacy of the planning required.

Sirius' gaze swept towards the grandfather clock in passing as he spoke animatedly, but the position of the shimmery gold hands made him double-take.

"Merlin's fuzzy balls, is that the time? How's it been an hour already? Moony's gonna kill me for not doing the dishes!"

It was almost hilarious to see the youngest Head Auror in a century grow fearful at the thought of his husband being disappointed in his domestic incompetence, but at this point, Draco was used to Sirius defying expectations. Besides, he knew that Harry, too, must have been worried at this point, and he didn't want to keep Harry waiting either.

"We should go," Draco agreed calmly. Sirius was fumbling with his wand, and now that Draco was fully conscious of the time (two minutes to three) he felt like he was counting down every second.

Finally, Sirius adjusted his grip on his wand and muttered the incantations hastily, and the powerful wards, strong enough to be visible—translucently shimmering in oranges and golds—were torn down like they were made of old parchment. They sparkled lightly as they quickly dissolved, and the moment awed Draco, even in his half-harried state. He idly suspected that the special spells were designed—or modified—with its sole intent being to impress and intimidate.

Draco opened the door himself, while Sirius tucked away his wand into its wrist holster. He stepped out hurriedly, and stopped right in his tracks. Harry was pacing the length of the hallway, hands clasped behind his back, and he didn't notice Draco even as he walked right past him, looking completely lost in thought. Harry didn't look up once, his eyes tracking the carpet as he seemingly worked single-mindedly towards wearing a hole in the threading.

Draco almost laughed then and there, his mind flashing back to fifteen minutes ago when he and Sirius were talking about fabric durability. He only managed to stop himself through sheer force of will—his boyfriend certainly wouldn't understand the context behind his laughter, and it was in his best interest not to antagonise Harry when he was in this state.

He stepped out further, until he was fully in the hallway, and waited for his shoes to come within Harry's line of sight as his boyfriend paced his way back towards him. It was a well-known fact among all those who knew Harry that when he was this lost in frantic, dire predictions, no one could snap him out of it unless they directly came into his line of vision. Draco didn't want to terrify him with his sudden appearance, so he patiently waited for Harry to notice him.

He felt Sirius lightly bump him from behind. Oh, yes he'd almost forgotten that he was still blocking the entrance.

"What's the holdup?" He heard Sirius ask, muffled.

He moved slightly to the side, allowing Sirius to take a look at his frantic godson. Sirius squeezed between the tiny gap he had left to stand beside him, and he could almost see the man's right shoulder shaking subtly in silent laughter.

Harry had just reached the big, ornate front door of the house. He conjured a wandless Tempus on the spot, his left foot still almost touching the door, and read the large floating numbers with a curse. He quickly about-turned with a flail, his hands spasming at his sides the way they usually did when he was indecisive. He nearly stalked his way right up to them, his eyes still tracking the carpet, before he noticed Draco and Sirius—or rather, Draco and Sirius' shoes.

Harry's head jolted up with a snap, his eyes wide as saucers behind his round glasses. His eyes roved over Draco's form first, making sure he was unharmed, until finally, the worry in his green eyes settled.

He turned towards Sirius sharply, so fast his face almost looked a blur, and he ran his hands through his already messy hair as he frantically yelled, "One hour! You kept him in there for one hour! What were you even doing, playing twenty questions?"

"Calm down, pup," Sirius replied placatingly, his voice still carrying the barest undertone of his mirth. "Your little boyfriend's fine. I promised you I wouldn't hurt him, didn't I?"

Harry's eyes were still wide, having still not fully calmed down yet. "Well—you said—but I—"

"See? I did promise not to hurt him. What did you have to worry about?"

Harry frowned, then huffed, crossing his arms as he looked up at his godfather. "Siri, it's you. You don't need a wand to shoot spells out of to scar someone irrevocably for life."

"Oh, right," Sirius nodded seriously, "that's true too. I'm good at that."

"Too good," Harry added wryly.

Harry glanced over to Draco again, as if assuring himself that Draco wasn't irrevocably scarred. Draco returned the examining glance with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He _was_ mentally scarred, yes, but it was nothing that couldn't be undone.

Besides, he'd been chatting with _Sirius Black_. Right then, he was on top of the world.

He couldn't wait to tell Harry all that had happened in the Red Room, but it'd have to wait until they were back at Hogwarts and there was no chance of them being overheard.

"Hey Prongslet, how mad do you think Moony is at me right now?" Sirius asked Harry, not quite hiding his worry.

Harry raised an eyebrow sardonically. "Considering Remy had been expecting you back, oh, I don't know, _an hour ago_ , how mad do you think he is? The longer you keep the dishes, the harder they are to clean, remember? He's been lecturing you about that for ages."

Sirius winced. "I forgot about that."

He slung a hand over his godson's neck, steering him towards the kitchen at the end of the hall. "Why don't we go see for ourselves? The sooner I grovel, the sooner he forgives me."

Draco didn't miss the way he had maneuvered himself so that he was between Draco and Harry. All he received from Sirius was a quick wink over his shoulder as he subtly shifted himself and Harry to the left, leaving a space open for Draco to walk beside them, instead of trailing behind them.

Sirius didn't bother checking to see if Draco had moved to catch up. He turned to whisper something in his godson's ear, and from behind them, Draco could see the muscles in his boyfriend's tensed back loosen up. Harry butted his head softly against his godfather's shoulders, and Draco just knew that he was smiling.

Sirius was pulling Harry away from his shoulder, and as Harry looked back up at his godfather, Sirius grinned, then kissed Harry's forehead gently.

Sirius may have thought him far enough away for his words to be missed, but Draco had heard each and every word.

" _You did good, pup. Good catch."_

Draco smiled, and took the unspoken invitation to place himself beside Sirius.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Draco was walking into this very kitchen for the second time that day, with both Harry and Sirius by his side, and while the sense of déjà vu was quite strong, he couldn't help but note the differences between this time and the last.

The last time he'd still been calling Sirius 'Sirius Black' mentally. The first time he'd walked through this door, he was dragged in by Harry and herded in by Sirius, feeling like a dead man walking to his doom. The first time he'd been here, there had been no stacks of dirty dishes set on the counter, no soothing scent of fruity tea, and Remus hadn't looked half as comfortable as he did now.

Remus sat serenely at the table, reading his Muggle softcover book, a large pale green ceramic mug before him with a, frankly, huge kettle to the side, along with two other cups, looking for all the world like he was taking advantage of the peace and quiet to catch up on his rest and recreation. The little dining nook looked so cosy without the silverwave set up intimidatingly on the kitchen table, and Remus, in his sweater drinking tea, looked even cosier.

Then Remus looked up, and the air of cosiness evaporated faster than the fine mist of Draco's favourite cologne. Remus' bright amber eyes skimmed over Draco with well-hidden concern, before finally settling on Sirius to his left, a steady, unmoving gaze.

Remus' face was completely and utterly unreadable. Draco idly wondered if Sirius had copied his classic Auror face from Remus' inscrutable stare. For that was what it was, a _stare_. Not a glare, not a glower, not the tiniest hint of frustration or annoyance. It was the mildest look Draco had ever seen on a human being's face, including Dumbledore. It was bloody _terrifying_.

Draco just had to see how Britain's valiant Head Auror was holding up against his husband's impossibly docile look. The first thing he noticed was the bobbing Adam's apple. Sirius Black gulped, looking a little disturbed. Draco got the inkling that it wasn't _just_ the dishes that had Remus so...mild.

"Would you look at the time," Remus intoned in the softest voice imaginable. "I expected you back seventy-four minutes ago."

Next to Sirius, Harry winced subtly. Draco assumed it had to do with the fact that Remus had apparently calculated the exact amount of time they should have—no, _Sirius_ should have taken. Ooh, Sirius was in so much trouble. Draco had no experience interacting with Remus Lupin, but even _he_ knew that was not good.

This was definitely not just about the dishes.

Sirius hid it well, but Draco was observant enough to look past the forced nonchalance. Sirius looked like a little kid being scolded for dipping his hands in the cookie jar, like he was caught out for disobeying a rule. But that couldn't be right.

When had this happened? When Draco had met Remus today, the first thing he had noted was that Remus was strictly a neutral party in the conflict. Remus had tried to smooth Draco's ruffled feathers when Draco had come upon the dining table disaster, and he didn't allow Sirius to go too far while he was present, but Draco wasn't under the illusion that Remus was looking out for him.

No, Remus had made it clear, right from the start, that he wasn't going to take either Sirius' or Draco's side. And well, he would have known if Remus had suddenly decided to change his mind midway through the meal and warn Sirius against doing anything to him— _he'd been right there the whole time._ If they had made any such agreement, Draco would have known about it. What was he missing?

"Mo—Moony, darling! Love of my life! Sorry for keeping you waiting so long, love. We lost track of time, didn't we Draco?" Sirius didn't give him any time to respond before continuing his speech with extravagant flourish, walking to the table towards Remus. "Did you miss me, Moony-love? Leaving you all alone all this time, how silly of me."

Remus didn't lose the _mildness_ in his gaze, even as he had to tilt his neck up to meet Sirius' face the closer Sirius moved toward him. It was, frankly, terribly unnerving.

Draco could see why Sirius was intimidated by his husband. Remus had adopted quite the original strategy; Draco had never seen anything like it.

"You were supposed to do the dishes with me, Sirius," Remus continued, picking up from where he had left off as if Sirius had never spoken, and Sirius gulped again. Merlin, this man was _good_. Draco could learn a thing or two from him. "I've been waiting for you."

"Terribly sorry, Moonbeam, I didn't mean to make you wait. Blondie and I were just so busy getting caught up, we forgot to check the time. You'll forgive me, won't you, love?"

Sirius rounded the table and reached Remus, forcing the man to turn sideways in his seat to face his husband. Sirius seemed to have dialled up the charm to its most potent, but to his credit, Remus didn't give an inch. His eyebrows furrowed slightly when Sirius mentioned Draco's new nickname, but otherwise, the man stood his ground.

"I left the dishes for you," Remus replied, honey coating his soft voice. "You're always so reliable, Sirius. I didn't want to inconvenience your dedication to keeping your promises."

Sirius smiled charmingly, yet sympathetically. "Poor Remy," he said, letting an undercurrent of concern seep into his voice. "It must've been so frustrating to see all those dirty dishes piled up like that. I know how much you like seeing things clean and tidy."

"I do, don't I?" Remus mused. He turned his head to the side, towards Draco, pretending to be in thought. The man's face gave nothing away, but Draco could read Remus' eyes, and those amber eyes spoke of nothing but amusement.

Remus turned his face back to look up at Sirius. "That's why I made sure to angle my chair away from the counters." Indeed, he was sitting with his back to the sink, and Sirius flinched at the calmness in Remus' smooth tones. "After all, if I gave in to temptation, there'd be nothing left for you to clean. And that'd just be terrible."

To Draco's left, Harry was watching the exchange with fond amusement, leaning back against the wall. Draco subtly shifted towards him, taking care to ensure that the two men a few feet away from them weren't alerted to his change in position.

"Why are you smiling like that?" he whispered lowly. "You look like you know what's going to happen."

Harry turned his smile towards Draco, speaking just as softly. "That's because I _do_ know what's going to happen. They do this all the time, but it's never this intense." Harry frowned, confused. "I don't know what's up with that."

"You don't think this is just about the dishes either, do you."

Harry smirked at him, amused. "It's never _just_ about the dishes, Dray. Not with them, it isn't."

He raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend's statement. "What else is it about then?"

Harry frowned again. "I don't know." Draco raised both eyebrows, and Harry continued. "My guess is that it's something to do with you. Remy's concerned about you."

Just what he thought.

"Did you hear them saying something about me? When did _this_ happen?"

Harry rolled his eyes fondly. "Didn't hear a thing. Pretty sure they had one of their silent conversations before you two left, because Remy changed his mind half-way through lunch. He was supposed to be neutral, but I guess that didn't work out for him so well." He smirked. "Congratulations Draco, you managed to lure Remus to your side with your charm alone. Didn't believe you could do it."

There were so many things in Harry's words that needed to be unwrapped—did Harry really not believe in his ability to charm anyone and anything when it was a _proven fact?_ —but Draco picked out the one he needed to clarify first and foremost.

"Silent conversations?"

The right side of Harry's lips picked up. "You know how every time I try to send you a silent message through hand gestures and eye signals, you just ask me if I'm going crazy?"

He did know what Harry was talking about. Once, Harry had tried to tell him to meet him in the RoR in Severus' potions class, and Draco couldn't help but think Harry possessed. All the eye-rolling was a bit excessive, in Draco's opinion, and very obvious. Needless to say, Severus had given Harry detention, and they had to have their important conversation in the RoR after Harry had scrubbed all the cauldrons in the dungeon.

"Padfoot and Remy don't have that problem," Harry continued at his sardonic nod. "They can hold entire conversations with their eyes alone, and you'd never even know what they're up to. Puts all our spectacular fails to shame, I'm telling you. I guess they're just one of those couples."

"And you think they had one before Sirius and I left for the sitting room?"

"Hmm, yes, while Remus was telling him about the dishes, I'm sure of it. I told you, it's never _just_ about the dishes."

Draco rolled his eyes, but acknowledged his boyfriend's theory. That was one mystery solved.

They turned back in unspoken unison to check on the couple they were discussing. Sirius looked cajoling, one palm resting on the table to trap Remus between him and the wooden back of the chair. Remus, on the other hand, looked completely unaffected, his arms crossed and a single eyebrow raised as he leaned back to put space between them.

Draco turned back to Harry. "You think you know how this'll go?"

"Of course," Harry replied. "The pattern never changes."

"Oh?"

Harry smiled, elaborating for his sake. "Padfoot will say something stupid, Remy threatens to make him sleep on the couch—although that never actually happens—Padfoot brushes it off with something charming, and Remy eventually gives in. And then they go off to their room to—"

Harry's smile morphed into disgruntled disgust. "You know what? I'm glad you're here this time. With you around, they won't run off to their room to—I don't want to even _think_ about what they do in their room, but you get the idea, right?"

Draco shook his head fondly. His boyfriend, honestly. " _Yes_ Harry, I get the idea."

"Good, because I didn't want to repeat 'to their room' another time." Harry said, abashed.

Draco rolled his eyes again, and moved back to his original position, moving just as subtly as before. Neither man noticed.

Sirius must've said something stupid, as Harry had predicted, because Remus had his eyes narrowed warningly, and a sheepish look crossed Sirius' face for but a second before it was masked by his usual confident grin.

"I should make you sleep on the couch tonight," Remus said, mildly annoyed—but even through his exasperation he sounded fond.

Sirius grinned roguishly, leaning into Remus' space even further. "Darling don't try that, you know it'll never work."

Remus still appeared unimpressed, and he moved back a bit, his impish smile smoothly turning coaxing. "Come on, Moony-Moons, you'll miss me."

Remus started to smile at that. He tamped it down quickly, but not quickly enough. Sirius noticed it instantly, because he was a trained Auror, and before he could start gloating about it, Remus turned to Draco. He pushed a palm up against his husband's chest, even as he was looking at Draco, and Sirius stepped back to give him space without verbal prompting.

"Draco," Remus said evenly, looking right at him—completely ignoring his husband sulking to the side. Draco was thankful that he had moved back in place in time.

"Won't you come here and sit with me? We can drink some tea."

Draco didn't know what Remus wanted from him, but he could play along. He wanted to see how this ended. Besides, how could he refuse his host's simple request?

"Of course, Remus," he agreed with a smile. "I'd love a cup."

He walked over to Remus and took the chair right next to him, opposite Sirius. Through mutual agreement, they both ignored the faint whine coming from the black haired Auror.

"Here," Remus said, reaching over for one of the two spare mugs by the kettle. He dragged over the red and white cup, placing it before Draco. "Why don't you use Sirius' mug? I'd have to rummage through the cupboards for a spare cup, and I'm feeling too comfortable to get up."

Another whine, this time slightly higher in pitch. Once again, they ignored the faint "Mo-oonyyy!" voiced four feet away.

"I don't mind at all," Draco responded calmly. "I'd hate to put you out."

Remus acknowledged his assent with a smile. "Here, I'll fill your cup for you." He proceeded to do so, lifting the heavy-looking kettle with one hand. "Milk? Sugar?"

"A single sugar please, and just a dash of milk," he answered.

"Of course." Remus put back the kettle, and twisted his hand round it for the sugar cup and the little jar of milk next to it.

Remus prepared the tea for him silently, and pushed the mug towards Draco when he was done.

Draco took a light sip. Ahh, perfect.

Remus stirred his own mug again, and set his spoon down on the uncovered table, the spoon hitting the side of the mug with a light _clink_. Draco chanced a glance up at Sirius and yes, the man was full-on pouting now.

Remus took a sip of his own, making a light sound at the warmth of his drink. Finally, he turned to Draco—with deliberate slowness, Draco was sure—and opened his mouth to speak.

"So, did you have a pleasant conversation with Sirius?"

"Oh yes," Draco replied with a smile. "It was lovely. We got so caught up, we completely lost track of time. I apologise for that, Remus, we didn't mean to keep you waiting."

"Oh, don't apologise," Remus responded with a returning smile. "It isn't your fault."

"It isn't?" Sirius echoed from the corner.

"That's on Sirius," Remus continued as if his husband hadn't spoken, again. "He should've been more alert. I hope he was nice to you—it'd be a shame if you spent an hour just getting threatened."

Draco opted to ignore the loud _"I wouldn't do that!",_ because he was, in fact, threatened for the first twenty-five minutes. He could hear Harry muffling his laughter over by the door.

"Don't worry, Remus, Sirius has been perfectly cordial so far."

From his position, exiled to Remus' side, Sirius pointed at him and said smugly, "Why, thank you, Blondie. See, Remus? I was nice, Blondie said so himself!"

But Draco's attention was on Remus—focused on the way the man's eyes visibly widened when Draco had spoken, then again at Sirius' continued use of Draco's horrible nickname. What had he said that made Remus lose his perfectly tailored poker face?

Sirius had tried so many stunts, and none of them had gotten a reaction. What did Draco say that did what Sirius couldn't—?

_Sirius_. He had called the man Sirius.

Severus' favourite line was always 'a name tells all'—something he had learned from Shakespeare. It was why he had come up with the pseudonym, the _Half-Blood Prince_. Who knew? Shakespeare was actually _right_.

Remus' eyes visibly softened, and he let his smile, finally, show on his features. "Sirius?" he questioned.

Draco smiled his confirmation. "Sirius asked me to call him that."

Remus schooled his expression again, nonchalance sliding over his features as smoothly as water, before turning to his hopeful husband. "Blondie?" he asked, and although his expression gave away nothing, he couldn't quite conceal the satisfaction in his voice.

Sirius, too, noticed the change in Remus' tone, and his eyes reflected optimism. "It suits him," he shrugged back, as casually as he could. "Don't you think, Moony?"

"When have I ever agreed with your naming choices?" Remus shot back sardonically, but his expressionless mask had already given way to amusement.

Sirius perked up visibly at the little smile on his husband's face, his excitement as animated as a puppy. If the man had a tail, Draco swore it'd be wagging its heart out.

"So, you believe me then?" Sirius asked with a grin, completely ignoring his husband's sarcastic remark.

"Well, the evidence _is_ as clear as day, as you always say," Remus replied with a smirk. His face softened again, and he smiled at Sirius, more openly this time. "I always believe you, Sirius. You just happen to test it sometimes."

Draco would have been thoroughly confused at the non-sequitur if he and Harry hadn't worked out the topic of their silent conversation.

Sirius looked sheepish for a second at his husband's chastisement. He paused then, and his face lit up, probably at something he had just thought of. He smirked at Remus. "You're right," he said with smug amusement and a lewd grin, "I'm a bit of a _handful_ , aren't I?"

Draco internally blanched at the unconcealed innuendo. Remus blushed brightly, very pointedly not looking at him. It took a few seconds longer, but the uncomfortable groan from the kitchen doorway signalled that Harry too, had gotten the insinuation. "That's the fourth time today!" he whined.

Sirius just grinned around at all of them with the satisfied air of a man who had unsettled every human being in the room with a single word. Draco wondered how Remus dealt with the constant embarrassment that inherently came with being around Sirius Black all the time. Remus Lupin truly was a saint.

After a few minutes of embarrassed silence, Remus cleared his throat resolutely. "Don't you have dishes to do, Sirius?"

The large smile dropped off Sirius' smug features quicker than a blink.

"Do I _haavve_ to?" The Auror dragged out, and he sounded more childish than Harry at his whiniest. Like godfather, like godson.

"Sirius!"

"Come _onn_ , Remy! You know I hate doing the dishes! Why can't you help me?"

"Sirius, it isn't that hard! You can very well do it yourself, and you never—I'm not going to give in to you every time, Pads, put the pout away."

"Please, Remy? My precious, darling, lovely Moony, won't you do the dishes with me? Come on, please? I'll even let you dry, and that's the only good part of cleaning up! It'll be fun—and you'll have me for company!"

"Yes, that's just what I need, more time with you," Remus shot back dryly, but he drained his mug to the dregs, setting it to the side as he pushed back his chair with a smile.

Sirius cheered up at the action. "Moony, you're the most perfect Moony to ever Moony and I adore you."

"Yes, yes, you can stop the flattering now, Pads, I've already agreed," Remus responded with a fond roll of his eyes.

Sirius stopped him as he made to get up. "Wait, wait! I wanna do this properly." Remus halted, looking up at him, confused.

Sirius took a little step back, then proceeded to bend at the waist in a sweeping bow, extending a gallant hand towards Remus. "O lovely husband of mine," he said with a flourish, "Will you do me the pleasure of letting me accompany you to the kitchen sink?"

Remus looked torn between feeling charmed and amused. Hiding a laugh, he replied, "Yes Sirius, I will."

He put his hand in his husband's, and Sirius bent down to kiss his knuckles. "You've just made me the happiest man on earth," he said softly, looking up at Remus over them.

Remus smiled back, pleased. They both kept smiling at each other, enjoying their moment, and Draco turned to see Harry's reaction. He knew that his boyfriend loved to see his godfathers' playfulness.

Sure enough, Harry was leaning back against the wall, grinning almost as wide as Sirius. His deep green eyes reflected nothing but happiness and content and this, _this_ was what Draco loved to see. Harry's happiness meant more to him than he even thought to admit.

Harry turned to him then—he must've felt Draco's eyes on him, Harry was always ridiculously observant like that—and smiled softly at him, Draco's very favourite smile. He smiled back, hoping to convey, through his own eyes, the love and adoration he rarely voiced aloud. Harry's eyes softened even more, and Draco felt his self-control crumble, as it always did around Harry, and soon, they were having a moment of their own.

The sound of Remus' soft voice next to him was what brought him out of his reverie. The man had said something that made Sirius laugh, but Draco had no idea what it was. He should have been annoyed at himself for rhapsodising over Harry's eyes, and Harry's smile, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't deny how gone he was over his boyfriend, so he wouldn't.

Of course, he didn't want to exhibit it just yet. Yes, he was a besotted fool, but he wasn't particularly inclined to announce it to everyone in the room.

He had to school his expression carefully before he could turn to the two adults. Harry, who'd of course noticed him putting on his mask, shook his head, laughing silently. Draco shot him a mild glare before angling his gaze towards the men. Yes, he wasn't as comfortable as Harry at showing his emotions openly, but Harry took far too much pleasure in it, in his opinion.

Remus had just finished saying something else to his husband, but Draco could have sworn that he had seen the man looking at _him_. He couldn't be sure, because if he had, Remus had turned away too swiftly for Draco to properly notice.

Remus was standing now, his hand still in Sirius', and he turned again to address Harry, still standing in the corner. "Harry," he said warmly, "why don't you come and sit down here? You and Draco can finish the kettle while I help _this_ old dog," he glanced fondly at Sirius, who grinned back, unashamed, "finish the easiest task on the planet."

He turned to Draco, nodding almost imperceptibly with a little knowing smile. Had Remus seen his love-struck expression?

"You don't mind drinking the rest of the tea, do you? I'd brewed far too much this time, and it'd be a shame to let it all go to waste."

"Not at all," Draco replied pleasantly. "I don't mind the least, I'm fond of tea myself."

Harry had already made his way over, and was settling himself down on Draco's other side, with a direct view of the counters. "Go, Remy. We'll just sit here for a while."

"Alright then," Remus agreed with a pleasant smile. "We'll be right over there."

The couple walked over to the sink, Sirius unwilling to let go of his husband's hand as he animatedly debated with himself over the spells he could use to get the job done. Draco could distinctly hear phrases like "firmer flick to the scrubbing spell, Remy, it'll add more force" and "how much is too much for the twirl in Aguamenti?" Remus didn't give a word of response, opting to silently shake his head, but that didn't deter Sirius in the least.

Harry nudged him then, gesturing silently to the kettle. He had already poured his mug while Draco was observing the pair. He added three heaping spoons of sugar to his cup while Draco re-filled his own mug, and seeing the disgust on his face, Harry cheekily threw in another half-spoon.

Draco screwed up his face even more. He had no idea how Harry managed to chug down that sugared garbage.

They sipped their tea silently for a while, content to observe the couple at the counter. Sirius stood staring at the dirty dishes for long minutes, deeply in thought, and Remus stood to the side patiently, leaning his hip against the drawers as he waited for his husband to resolve his thoughts.

Draco shared an amused glance with his boyfriend. Was this something Sirius always did?

At last, Sirius straightened up, satisfied. He actually let out an 'aha', and Draco bit his lip to keep from laughing. Harry was giggling into his mug, and Draco could see his shoulders shaking.

Sirius cast spells in rapid succession at the used china—a couple of levitating charms, a soaping spell, scrubbing spell, and a final water charm—and instantly topped it off with a hasty repetition rune, drawn with his wand. He stood back, his arms crossed smugly, and glanced at his husband with pride.

Harry muffled his laughter with his hand, and even Remus couldn't hold in his amusement, covering his mouth with his fingers as he shook his head for what felt to Draco like the tenth time. Draco held back his own laughter through sheer force of will.

Eventually, the pair got more into their task, Sirius overseeing his spellwork as he made conversation with his husband, and Remus responded every so often in his soft tones as he dried off the dishes with a grey cloth.

Draco looked at his boyfriend over the rim of his mug. He was still watching his godfathers as they worked, and Draco could see him smile as he saw Remus nudge Sirius with his hip.

Harry turned to him then, and Draco could see the concern in his emerald eyes. "You okay?" he asked softly, and the unspoken question didn't escape Draco's notice.

"I'm fine," he replied in reassurance, making sure to keep his voice just as low. "We talked, but that was about it. I think Sirius is alright with... _this_."

Harry smiled. "I'll let you get away with that much, as long as you promise to tell me everything when we're back at Hogwarts."

He smirked back. "I thought that was a given." Harry looked at him warningly, and he amended his statement. "Yes, okay, I explicitly agree to give you all the details about our conversation when we get back to Hogwarts. Happy?"

" _Ecstatic_."

He promised to give all the details, but he didn't say which details he'd planned on sharing. There was no way he was telling Harry about the awkward moment with the 'top and bottom' situation, or that he had revealed his entire relationship history to Sirius Black, Head Auror of Britain and his own boyfriend's godfather. That was never happening.

He turned back to watch the pair at the sink. The two of them were much closer than before, lost in their own world. It was funny to see Sirius standing with his arm around Remus' waist, his magic doing all the work for him, while Remus carefully dried the china with his trusty dishcloth. It was quite reflective of their personalities, and Draco found watching them interact intriguing.

As he watched, Sirius said something that made Remus blush, then turned and kissed his husband's neck. Remus laughed, swatting him away with the damp cloth.

Harry cleared his throat beside him, and Draco turned his attention back to his boyfriend.

"So..."

"Yes?"

"Sirius?"

"He told me to call him that."

"Did he now?"

"Uh huh."

Harry smiled impishly, pitching his voice even lower. "Be honest," he asked, his eyes twinkling, "Did you happy dance?"

Draco blinked.

"Did I what?"

"You know, get all excited and pretend to dance in your head."

"No, Harry, I did not _happy dance_."

"Come on, you can tell me. I won't laugh, I promise."

"I'm a Malfoy, you idiot. Malfoys don't happy dance."

Harry fell silent, but his amused smile let Draco know that his boyfriend didn't believe him one bit. Draco wasn't surprised. Harry knew him better than his own parents did, of course he knew exactly what went through Draco's mind when Sirius had asked him to call him _Sirius_.

The low voices from the other end of the kitchen grew slightly louder, just enough to be carried over to their table, and Draco distinctly picked out the word "Blondie". He frowned reflexively. He still didn't know how to feel about that name.

Coincidentally, or perhaps ironically, Harry piped up softly again, and Draco just _knew_ what Harry was going to ask.

" _Soo…."_

"Just spit it out, Harry."

"Blondie?"

Draco shot his boyfriend a sour look. "I don't even _know_ how that happened," he answered honestly. "Apparently, it 'suits me', if you didn't hear."

"Oh no, I heard," Harry replied, grinning. "I was just surprised he nicknamed you even before a full twenty-four hours."

Draco couldn't hold his wince. "Is that bad?"

"Are you kidding me? It's fantastic! It means he likes you."

Draco glared flatly. "And how in Salazar's great name is Sirius thinking 'Blondie' a _suitable_ name for me, an indication that he _likes_ me?"

Harry huffed out a near silent laugh. "I'm not lying, it's a fact."

His glare strengthened.

"It's _Sirius_. Since when does his logic ever make sense?"

Draco paused his retort. He was forced to consider Harry's reasoning, because well, that was true too.

"Alright fine, I'll consider that, but he labels the ones he hates, too." Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Draco spoke over him. "I spent the whole of lunch hearing him retell his old cases and address every single person he had mentioned arresting as Baldy, Pock-Face and _Twiggy_. Harry, you cannot argue against this."

Harry shut his mouth. "Okay, yeah, he does that too. And it's not just for suspects, by the way. He pretty much labels everyone he doesn't like—"

"I'm _aware_." He was almost completely positive that his own godfather was one of them.

"—but yours is a good one, I promise."

"How do you know that?"

Harry grinned. "Well, I have experience, you see. I can easily tell the difference."

" _How?_ " he asked again, because he personally didn't see the difference between Blondie and Twiggy.

"Well," Harry's grin softened, "The first one he'd named was his best friend for life. He married the second one—and is currently snogging said second person," he added, glancing quickly over to where Sirius was kissing his husband, Remus' dishcloth now over the back of his neck, "and the third—well, he's godfather to the third, and the best bloody possible godfather he could ever be, at that."

Harry smiled softly, and Draco couldn't help smiling back. "So yeah, I have some experience distinguishing between the two."

"I guess you do," he acquiesced with an acknowledging grin.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Draco didn't know what the time was, and he didn't really care. His eyes had reflexively strayed to the little clock on the side wall a couple of times—an unconscious habit formed by his frequent time-checks since nine o'clock that morning—but his attention hadn't held enough for him to properly read the clock.

For the first time today (and quite honestly, this was a _long_ time coming) he was completely and utterly content. Harry was good for him—far too good for him—but he had never had the experience of being part of a family before, not even a little bit, and today could quite possibly be the best day of his life, in spite of its little hiccups.

Sirius and Remus had come over after they were done with the dishes, and together, the four of them managed to finish up the pot. They were all far too full from their big lunch, and so it took them quite some time to get through the contents of the kettle, not that Draco minded.

Since Draco was using Sirius' mug, Sirius opted to steal sips from Remus' green one. He pretended to be annoyed with Draco for appropriating his favourite red mug—or more accurately, for letting Remus appropriate his mug _for_ Draco—but he took it in stride, and his pretence was dramatic enough for it to be more a joke than a point of concern for Draco.

His boyfriend looked absolutely delighted to see him interact so comfortably with Remus and Sirius. It felt good to sit around together, just talking and laughing, with no power-plays whatsoever. It wasn't something Draco was all that used to, but he was quickly learning to appreciate it.

They were still at the table—Remus had shown him the synopsis for Muggle book he was reading, and they were now debating the pros and cons of wizarding vs. Muggle fantasy books. Draco had noticed Sirius writing something on a little piece of parchment a few minutes ago, and he slid it over to Harry quietly just then, while Remus was involved detailing a particularly passionate response to his side of the discussion. Harry read it silently, quickly looking up at Sirius when he was done. His face broke out into a startled grin and he smiled at his godfather, and Sirius winked back, resting his feet up on the wooden top of the table as he leant back in his chair with casual elegance.

Harry looked just as excited when Draco was wrapping up his discussion with Remus, so whatever was in that note must have been _really_ good news. He wondered when his boyfriend would tell him what was written in the parchment.

When Remus stood up to put the mugs in the sink, Harry was the first to get up. He dragged Draco by the hand, forcing him to leave his seat too.

"Come on!" Harry exclaimed. "Present time!"

Draco smiled.

"Is it that time already?" he teased his boyfriend. He knew how excited Harry could get at the very mention of presents. It was a simple joy, and one Draco had taken for granted until he had gotten to know Harry.

Harry's relatives had really messed him up, and what they did was unforgivable. But in moments like these, Draco could appreciate Harry's quirks. He loved seeing the simple innocence in Harry's personality, enduring even the harshest of situations, and it really shone through in such moments.

"Shut up, Draco."

Draco smirked. Worked every time.

Harry turned to Sirius, pointedly ignoring him. "We'll be in the den, 'kay Pads?"

"No problem, Prongslet. I need to pick up the Motocross issue I'd left in the den, so I'll walk out with you."

Harry looked at Sirius, and he clarified with a laugh, "I'll pick up my issue, and go to the _sitting room_."

"Oh, okay then," Harry replied with a sheepish smile.

"Oh, wait!" Remus called out from the corner of the kitchen. "Draco, I'd forgotten to ask—how long do you have to spend with us? Do you need to be home by a particular time?"

He didn't even need to think out a reply.

"Don't worry about it, Remus," he replied, smiling. "I have my entire day cleared today, and I don't have anywhere else to be—my parents aren't expecting me back at a specific time as such. I'm free the whole day—for as long as you'll have me here, of course."

"Nowhere else to be, hmm?" Remus questioned. He smiled. "I was thinking of spaghetti for dinner. How does it sound?"

"You're welcome to join, of course," he added, using the same tone as Draco had before. "In fact, I think we'd all love it if you did." His eyes twinkled. "Even Sirius."

"Speak for yourself, Moony," came the teasing voice from his left. "I've had enough of Blondie for one day."

Sirius turned to him, grinning madly. "Unless, of course, you're willing to listen to the Quidditch game with us on the wireless. In that case, you're welcome, I need someone on my side."

Draco laughed with the rest of them. He had no doubt whatsoever, as he answered Remus.

"In that case, I'd love to."

From his other side, Harry kept affrontedly exclaiming that Draco was turning against him, that he was pitting himself against Harry on purpose and they couldn't be boyfriends anymore. Harry was grinning so wide, none of them even tried to take him seriously, not even Harry himself.

Sirius reached around Draco to ruffle Harry's hair, Harry groaned and slapped his hand away, and soon enough Remus was yelling at Sirius as the pair's play-fighting devolved into another tickle session, Draco laughing madly in the background.

Yes, there was no doubt really, what his answer would have been. It would always be yes.

He thought again, about how anxiously he'd been watching the clock all day. It felt so silly now, so stupid. He had no reason to worry, because all that had happened today had brought him to this moment.

He could live in this moment forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Would you like to see more to this? I've already started working on another fic in this 'verse....I'm sure y'all are all curious about Ron's involvement in the Drarry relationship, and in the next fic, I plan to explore their get-together. Humour, of course. It'll always be all humour ;D
> 
> I also have a ton of other ideas for follow-ups, but let's see how it goes, lol. If you have any suggestions, ideas, or just something you wanna see happen in this 'verse, go ahead and leave it in down below. I cannot promise that I'll be able to write them all, but I'm open to prompts, and if I find something that inspires me, I'm gonna be on a roll ;)
> 
> So, what do you think? Yes or no to the prequel? Is it a "Heck yeah, I wanna see _everything!!_ " or a "Get out and scrap everything, I'm bored already"? Hit me up in the comments section!


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